Some Assembly Required
by TalksToSelf
Summary: A tragic event leaves John and Sherlock in charge of a newborn baby girl, the adoption surprisingly gains Mycroft's approval but ultimately the family's survival will come down to one question: Is Sherlock capable of being a father or will his own past come back and haunt him?
1. Going Down

It was certainly not how John had intended to spend his Friday evening, but then Sherlock and emergency rooms seemed to go hand in hand. At least once a month (with a far too alarming frequency, in John's opinion) Sherlock would get himself so badly injured that it wasn't something John could just patch up at the flat, this time it was a knife wound, a long crimson arch from his shoulder to his elbow that required stronger pain medication than John was allowed to issue (and stronger pain medication than he felt comfortable with Sherlock taking, if he was completely honest) and a few dozen stitches. Needless to say that, and the fact that the adult A&E department had been moved to the fifth floor of the nearest hospital to make room for a children's emergency ward had left Sherlock in a foul mood.

In fact as they crossed the brightly lit corridor to get to the elevator, John could swear he saw a little black storm cloud above Sherlock's head (though to be fair his hair resembled one anyway), crackling with pent up rage and irritation.  
"If you don't want to end up at the hospital, stop getting yourself cut to shreds!" John hissed at him as Sherlock jabbed the call button with a completely unnecessary venom.  
"Oh yes, of course, how foolish of me, next time I'll just ask the violent child molestor to put down the blade shall I? Maybe invite him round for tea and biscuits? He looked like a jammy dodger man, don't you think?" Sherlock spat sarcastically, stepping into the thankfully vacant lift - John wouldn't wish a pissed off Sherlock on anybody.

John sighed softly as the elevator began to clatter down to the next floor. He had not yet worked out a way to explain to Sherlock that he was his best mate and he didn't want to see him hurt - not that it would actually stop Sherlock acting recklessly and jumping on criminals, because that's just the way Sherlock's mind works when it's on a case, but it might make him think twice before he did it. Nobody got on on the fourth floor, Sherlock took a long moment to scowl at the open doors  
"Who puts an accident and emergency ward on the fifth floor?" He demanded, irritated. "Patients could bleed to death in transit. When did children become more important than adults? Surely adults are more likely to be critically injured in their day to day lives?"  
"Does seem a bit daft." John agreed as they hurtled down to the third floor. Maternity. An unassuming blonde woman waddled into the lift, cradling her bump and Sherlock surveyed her with mild interest -likely deducing her current stage of gestation alongside her life history.

"Look all I'm asking is that next time you stop and think before..."  
"I'm ALWAYS thinking John, if I stop it will only waste valuable time!" Sherlock protested. The lift jerked violently and John ended up nearly in the woman's lap as the lights went out plunging them into darkness.  
"Sorry sorry... are you okay?" John fretted, she hadn't fallen over but she had careered backwards into the wall.  
"I'm fine." She squeaked as they both straightened up. (Sherlock had somehow maintained his balance - the lanky prat's centre of gravity must be higher)  
"Oh great." Sherlock grumbled, hitting the emergency call button as John pushed the battery operated push light high on the wall. It wasn't much but it illuminated them enough to see each other.

"The call button's not working." Sherlock did not sound worried, just increasingly annoyed.  
"They have back up generators, we'll be moving again in no time." John promised, sparing a glance at the blonde girl, who nodded calmly. John raised an eyebrow at her, wondering how she was so collected when she was stuck in a lift, evidently heavily pregnant. She giggled.  
"Oh don't worry, I've got hours yet." She said reassuringly. "Early labour, I was only going for a walk to get it started really." Sherlock rolled his eyes, he evidently could not care less about her impending arrival. John scowled at him and offered her his hand.  
"I'm John and this moody git's Sherlock." John pointed his thumb at Sherlock who did not seem best pleased at being described as a 'moody git', _'if he'd wanted complimenting he shouldn't behave like said moody git'_John thought bitterly.  
"Amy." She said brightly, shaking John's hand.

"Is it your first, Amy?" John asked, making a vague gesture towards her belly.  
"Oh please tell me we're not doing small talk." Sherlock groaned, banging the back of his head against the wall.  
"Sherlock!" John scolded.  
"Of course it's her first, look at her she's barely twenty!" Sherlock argued, now that John could see her properly in the dim emergency lighting, Sherlock was right - Amy looked very young indeed.  
"Twenty one actually... Bit rude, your boyfriend." Amy told John who ran his hand instinctively through his hair.  
"Yeah he i... wait he's not my boyfriend." He corrected as an afterthought, ignoring Sherlock's dark chuckle.  
"Yes, it's my first." Amy confirmed, hand on her swollen stomach. John stuck his hand in his pocket and fished out his mobile, unsurprised to see they had no signal. Just before 8pm. He sighed.

"It shouldn't be too long, they've got procedures for stuff like this." John said aloud.  
"Depends what it is." Sherlock said unhelpfully. "If it's a power outage exclusive to the hospital, they'll be up and running in no time. If it's a regional power outage, the emergency generators cover will only extend to lighting the operating theatres and the emergency exits. It seems the latter is the most likely, considering the contact lines are out and the CCTV is off." He pointed to the emergency call button, still in darkness and a small box above their heads. "Could be hours."  
"Shut up, Sherlock." John growled at him.  
"Only stating the facts." Sherlock sniffed haughtily, sliding down the wall to sit down. His impossibly long legs reached the other side of the lift, so he had to tuck his knees up, giving him the look of a petulant child sent to the naughty corner.

"Might as well get comfy, we could be here for a while." He told Amy, helping her to the floor.  
"Don't think I've been comfy for five months, but I'll try my best!" She laughed, sitting in an awkwardly curled ball on the floor, her belly too large to accomodate the position. John joined her, sitting between her and Sherlock, who was twiddling on his out-of-use mobile phone.  
"We were just leaving, but someone will have noticed you going, right? Your partner or..."  
"No... no I'm here alone." She said softly, averting her eyes slightly. John immediately sensed he'd said the wrong thing, it was usually Sherlock putting his foot in his mouth, not John.  
"Tactless, John." Sherlock scolded, pleased to be in the right for once. "Obviously recently widowed." John cringed.

"Oh..." She sounded slightly surprised and looked at Sherlock with wide eyes. "Is it really that obvious?"  
"Wedding ring, fairly new by the looks of it, recently removed from your ring finger, you've still got a tan line. It's hanging round your neck... if you'd just been divorced you wouldn't attach that much sentiment to it, it's on the same chain as an RAMC locket, closed but assuming it contains a picture of your husband - You're an army widow, within the last few months - presumably no more than nine given your current state." Sherlock reeled off. Amy's hand flew to her neck and she clutched her locket, emblazoned (John could just see) with an army seal on it.  
"Uh... sorry about him." John mumbled awkwardly.  
"No... no it's fine. All correct." She said with a tiny nod. Sherlock nodded back, not extending any sympathy, merely acknowledging the fact he'd got it right.

"I lost Jay six months ago, he was killed in Afghanistan." John felt a slight pang in his chest, he'd been out there, he'd seen it, he'd seen good men die... he always knew some of them had sweethearts back home, when he came back he'd considered visiting the fiance of his deceased comrade Dolly (Dalton, but they all went by nicknames out there) but hadn't found the heart to - he made a mental note to email her when he got home.  
"I'm sorry." John offered, reaching forward and taking her hand as a comforting gesture. She gave a weak smile in return.  
"We'd been married less than a year..." She said softly. Sherlock moaned.  
"Oh don't give us the tragic backstory." He complained.  
"Shut the fuck up, Sherlock." John growled. "Please continue." He told Amy reassuringly. She hesitated.

"We've been together since I was 13... we met in foster care actually... my parents died when I was a baby, his gave him up for adoption when he was five but nobody wanted him... people want to adopt babies. We were thick as thieves... when you don't have anybody else in the world, the one person you do have... it makes it more special I think." She mumbled, still fingering her gold locket. John shot a glance at Sherlock, who was staring at the ceiling and counting under his breath. "He joined the army when he turned 18... promised me when he came back he'd marry me... he did." She smiled wistfully.  
"He sounds like an amazing man." John told her earnestly.  
"He was... he really was. We got married last year and I fell pregnant almost straight away... he was so excited. We didn't have a good upbringing... nobody really likes carehome kids... think we're trouble. He promised when he came home that we'd do it right but he never came home." She sighed heavily.

"Oh enough about me, you don't need to hear my sobstory!" She said firmly, realising John had been looking at her sympathetically.  
"Agreed." Sherlock murmured.  
"Sherlock, we have JUST got out of A&E, if you don't want to go straight back there the minute this lift starts again I mean it: shut up." He warned.  
"Are you threatening me?" Sherlock asked, quirking an eyebrow.  
"Yes. If you can't say anything nice..." He started.  
"Boring." Sherlock cut in, leaping to his feet.  
"What the hell are you doing now?" John asked exasperatedly as Sherlock moved to the doors and began prying them open. "For fuck's sake Sherlock!"  
"Just seeing where we are." Sherlock answered, catching a brief glimpse of the elevator shaft, but before he could wrench the doors open fully he winced and fell back, clutching his injured arm. "Ugh. Between floors apparently." He grumbled, rubbing his sore arm. John sighed.  
"Just sit down and behave, alright?" Sherlock scowled but did as he was told.

For the next half an hour John struggled to make small talk between the three of them, Sherlock doing his absolute damndest to wind people up, and Amy becoming slightly agitated as the minutes passed. She started doing some pregnancy breathing exercises and Sherlock genuinely looked like he wanted to punch her.  
"Must you do that?" He demanded.  
"Unless you want me hyperventilating and using up all the oxygen in here then yes!" She grumbled still 'whit-whoo' breathing. John hit the emergency call button once more, it was still dead as it could be.  
"Common misconception. Elevators are not air tight, we have the entirety of the elevator shaft and likely the floor below us filled with oxygen. We shan't suffocate even with your incessant over breathing."  
"Oh you are SO lucky I'm all the way over here!" She growled, unable to get to her feet and deck him.  
"Okay, okay just... just calm down." John urged them both, placing his hands on Amy's shoulders. She keened at the touch, leaning backwards into it, still breathing deeply.

Then she gave a whimper, her eyes clenching shut and her fists forming balls.  
"Was that a contraction?" John asked worriedly.  
"Bigger than the others... I've been getting little ones for half an hour or so." She mumbled embarrassedly, somewhat humilated by her situation.  
"Oh hell. Right..." John bit his lip, and even Sherlock knew this wasn't a good situation to be in. As Amy eased up, Sherlock's face became more tensed.  
"Realistically speaking, how long does this labor thing usually take?" He asked glancing at the clock on his phone.  
"They said I'd be ages." Amy promised. "My waters only broke at 6pm... I'm not in establish-oh." She whimpered again and gripped tightly onto John's hand.

"John, you're a doctor, do something!" Sherlock fussed.  
"You're a doctor?" Amy queried despite her obvious discomfort.  
"I'm not that kind of doctor." John said hurriedly.  
"You have delivered babies before though." Sherlock pushed.  
"That was ONE woman and ONE baby, in Afghanistan... we were pushed for time and it was an emergency..." John said, a note of panic in his voice, wishing he'd never told Sherlock the story about the baby boy he'd delivered during a hostile evacuation.  
"What do you call this?" Sherlock argued, signalling to their surroundings.  
"You were in Afghanistan?" Amy panted, leaning slightly forward.  
"Uh yeah... army doctor."  
"You didn't..." She screwed her face up, her contractions coming thick and fast. "You didn't know Jay MacDonald, did you?"  
"No... not in my regiment." John said, heart racing as he assessed the situation. He had even less supplies to work with here than he did in Afghanistan - he had a pen knife in his pocket (and a gun, but that was useless) and that was it.

"Fuck." He said decisively, realising he didn't have much choice. "Well uh... yeah I do _sort of_ know what I'm doing so... if it's okay I'll take a look, just to you know... see where you are because your contractions are quite close together so... bit of a worry."  
"Suppose so." Amy sighed, laying her head back against the wall. John was a medical man, and he knew the human body better than most people, but there was still something decidedly awkward about removing a woman's knickers and giving her a cervical examination on the floor of a lift with Sherlock watching cautiously over his shoulder. Luckily Amy seemed just as embarrassed about it as he did. A quick internal sweep confirmed John's worst fears.

"Right well, you're definitely in established labour." He said, biting his lip.  
"Fuck." Amy said, agreeing with John's earlier sentiment.  
"You're about 6 centimetres dilated." He informed her, pulling back and tucking her skirt back into place.  
"What does that mean, relatively?" Sherlock did not like to admit he didn't know about everything, but pregnancy and birth was definitely not on his list of subjects he was knowledgable of.  
"It means she's progressing quickly." John said with a sigh. "Try the emergency call button again." He suggested somewhat hopelessly, unsurprised when Sherlock pressed the button and got no response once more.  
"I CAN'T be that far." She said shaking her head. "I was only 1 centimetre dilated when I left the ward and that was what... an hour ago? It takes ages... days sometimes!" She fretted.  
"Most women would be thankful for a quick labour... your little one just has terrible timing." John sighed and looked around, trying to see if there was anything he could use to assist in childbirth. Nope.

"Maybe you'll get lucky and get stuck at 6 or 7 for a bit but generally when you've started dilating quickly you keep going... I'll check again in half an hour if we've not shifted by then, okay?" She nodded, and he felt suddenly very sorry for her, poor girl had only gone for a walk and she'd ended up stuck in this tiny lift in established labour with only the two of them for company. To be fair she had struck lucky that John had a bit of experience, John dreaded to think what Sherlock would be like in this situation on his own (shouting at the baby to stay in most likely), he'd already stood up and started furiously pacing the few steps across the lift back and forth, his palms pressed together beneath his lips.  
"You know... my birthing plan didn't include a lift." Amy said half heartedly. John squeezed her shoulder gently.  
"Sorry about that." He stood up and crossed to Sherlock who, despite himself looked quite frantic.

John braced his hands on Sherlock's shoulders, careful to avoid his wound, making sure the detective stilled.  
"Calm down." He told Sherlock firmly, Sherlock gulped and lowered his voice to a whisper.  
"I'm not good in medical emergencies." He hissed. "I have no idea how to behave in this situation."  
"Just... just don't freak out. It's going to get messy and loud and I know you don't like loud but you're just going to have to grit your teeth. You don't need to do anything, okay. Hopefully the lift's going to come back to life soon and _I_ won't need to do anything but if I do just... just stand back and let me work okay?" John spoke in an equally hushed tone and looked Sherlock in the eyes.

Sherlock was not used to handing control over to John, Sherlock was usually the one telling people to back off while he worked. Just this once he had to defer all practical usefulness to John. Sherlock was not used to being helpless and it irked him, but he had no time to worry about that. He cast a glance to Amy, sat on the floor in obvious pain and gulped once more.  
"Okay. It's in your capable hands, Doctor." Sherlock said, loud enough for Amy to hear, in an attempt to reassure her. John pushed down the odd swell of pride he got from Sherlock calling him 'Doctor' in such a fashion. Now was not the time to analyse it.

"I'm sorry for causing so much trouble." Amy simpered, apologetically.  
"Shh, it's okay, it's not your fault." John told her, sinking back to his knees beside her and dabbing at her sweaty forehead with his sleeve. "In a bit you're going to be a mum, yeah... do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"  
"No. Jay wanted to find out but he died before the gender scan." Amy panted, wringing her hands. "There's no family or close friends or anything so... it was up to me. I chose not to find out... boy or girl it's going to be called Jay." She said firmly, John took her hand once more and let her squeeze it with her contraction.  
"Maybe take the stairs next time, eh?" He offered jokingly, she gave him a weak smile and nodded.

John had never known Sherlock to be so quiet, the next twenty minutes passed without a thoughtless comment or tactless insult - the detective literally silent as he tried to cope with the situation.  
"8 centimetres." John confirmed on his next check, wishing the lift would start moving or at least the emergency floodlighting would kick in, the tiny push lamp on the wall was only casting a dim glow making his job that much harder.  
"How long until... the baby happens?" Sherlock asked cautiously, his voice an odd comfort to John's distress.  
"Not long." John sighed.  
"I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry." Amy stuttered, shaking her head to free tears.  
"Don't be." John stressed once more. "Honestly, you're doing really well, Amy."  
"I'm not I'm rubbish, it hurts... it really hurts. I can't handle it. I can't... I can't cope." Her whole body wracked with the sobbing.

Sherlock crossed to her and knelt beside her, he took her face in his hands a little too roughly.  
"Look at me." He insisted, drawing her wide blue eyes to his. "This is the hardest thing you will ever have to do and you are coping fabulously. Your body is a seething stew of hormones right now which is making you cry but that does not mean you are not coping. Use any mechanism you need, if you want to scream - scream, if you want to cry you keep crying, but don't doubt yourself. You're being incredibly brave and you're doing this all on your own. Don't doubt yourself, not now." John's mouth nearly fell open in shock. Sherlock did not do emotional support or kind words, but he'd apparently said exactly the right thing as Amy clung to him and continued crying into his shoulder. Sherlock shot John an 'I'm really not comfortable with this' glance, but he held her anyway and John felt oddly proud of the detective.

An hour later the lights had blinked on and disappeared into nothingness once but other than that the lift was still as stuck as ever, the emergency call button still disconnected and Amy was starting to get quite frantic.  
"Oh god oh god it's happening. I'm actually going to give birth in a LIFT!" She cried hysterically, having been writhing around in agony for the past ten minutes. "John, John I NEED to push, you don't understand I NEED to push now!" She cried, Sherlock was still situated at her head, having his hand crushed with every contraction. He could not look more uncomfortable or out of place. John had checked Amy's progress only fifteen minutes ago and she'd still only been 8 centimetres dilated, but to put her mind at ease he checked her again.  
"Right well... yes. 10 centimetres. It's baby time." John said grimly, he shucked off his jacket so he had something to wrap the baby in when it arrived, rolled his sleeves all the way up and pulled out his pen knife and laying it on the floor beside Amy's hip.

John spared them both an 'I've got this' look before setting to work.  
"Can you turn over? Onto your hands and knees?" He asked her. She tried to prop herself up and cried out in anguish.  
"I can't, no." She whimpered.  
"Okay okay." John frowned, gravity being on their side would certainly help but she was genuinely struggling to move and distressing her was not going to help so he eased her down onto her back, head facing the ceiling. Sherlock had not let go of her hand and John was mildly impressed by his behaviour, by his own admission Sherlock was rubbish at this sort of thing, John had fully expected Sherlock to stand back making cutting comments (_"Oh come on, you can do better than that! It's childbirth not rocket science, honestly."_ sprang to mind) but no - here he was, in the thick of it, helping in whatever little way he could.

"Next time you get a contraction I want you to go with it, bare down onto your bottom okay? Push when you get the urge." He told Amy in his most controlled doctorly tone, trying not to show in his voice that he was just as terrified as she was.  
"Oh god! Oh hell it hurts!" She screeched, and it occured to John that the people on either floor two or floor three might hear her - though he was certain they were already working as hard as they could on getting the hospital back on track.  
"And push." He ordered her gently. She whimpered and gave a pathetic attempt at a push. "Come on Amy, you can do this, a bit more force."  
"I don't want to hurt it." She mumured, grinding the back of her head into the floor.  
"Trust me, babies were designed for this, you won't hurt your baby." He promised "Next time, hard as you can, yeah?" He waited with bated breath for her next contraction which arrived with a howl (and a wince from Sherlock).

"You're crowning Amy, your baby's coming, you're doing brilliantly." John knew how unhelpful his words probably were when Amy was obviously this far gone but they were all he had. He couldn't tell her what he was actually thinking (that he never ever wanted to have sex with a woman ever again - he'd done this once before and it had put him off for 6 months.). Another push saw the baby's head begin to make an appearance.  
"Brilliant, facing upwards, you're doing great." He reassured her, however as the baby's head came out he noticed something that made his heart stutter.

"Oh fuck!" John was unable to keep the panic from his voice this time.  
"What! What's wrong!?" Amy pleaded at the top of her lungs.  
"Stop pushing a minute." John ordered, trying to assess this with a level head. "The cord's round its neck."  
"Oh god oh god it's going to die, don't let it die please oh god!"  
"It's not going to die!" John swore. "But you NEED to stop pushing while I get it untangled okay? Promise me!" She whimpered and nodded as John struggled to fit his fingers under the thick and deceptively strong cord which was strangling the tiny child the further it progressed into the world.

John swore loudly, even in the dim light he could see the baby was going slightly blue.  
"John?" Sherlock questioned, worriedly. John refused to look at them, to deviate his attention even for a split second, he would not lose this one, he started to plead in his own head, to bargain with a God he'd lost faith in while he was in Afghanistan. **Anything. Anyone else. Not this one. Not a newborn baby. Please.** He begged as he finally tugged the ring of the cord over the baby's face. It made a pained choked noise and started gasping for breath, gulping in the fresh air desperately.  
"Okay okay it's fine, breathing on its own, one more push to free the shoulders." John urged, Amy was sobbing as she convulsed with a final contraction and the baby slid into John's palms with a loud cry.

It was bloody and slimey as all newborns are, but the colour had returned to its face and it was howling with loud and healthy lungs.  
"It's a girl Amy, a girl." John told her cheerily, fumbling for his pen knife and knotting the cord before cutting it. He wrapped the tiny infant into his jacket and leaned over to hand the baby to her mother, and saw immediately that there was something very very wrong, Amy's pupils were blown and the flush to her face was fading rapidly. Her head lolled dramatically to the side as she lost consciousness. John bundled the baby with little grace into Sherlock's outstretched arms.  
"What's happening, what's wrong?"  
"She's haemorrhaging - massively." John breathed, unable to calm down as the normal blood flow that accompanies the delivery of the placenta was at least tripled, gushing freely. "The placenta's not separated properly, it's ruptured somewhere... fuck." John growled.

"This shouldn't be happening!" He stressed, massaging her abdomen in an attempt to cause a contraction to stop the blood flow. It was no good, she was losing too much blood. "I've never even seen one of these on telly!" He despaired. "I don't know what to do! She needs emergency medical treatment NOW or she's going to... she's..." John sat back on his heels, staring at the rapidly expanding pool of blood.  
"Is there anything you can do?" Sherlock asked. John shook his head, hands still on her abdomen his whole body trembling as he willed her to contract. He knew in the back of his head, she was losing too much blood, that nobody could survive this for any sustained period of time.  
"No... unless this lift starts moving within the next thirty seconds or so..." Sherlock grunted as he dragged Amy up, propping her against the wall using the one arm that was not cradling the tiny baby. Sherlock held Amy's arms together and placed the infant on them.

John had never felt so helpless, watching as the life drained from Amy. Only a few minutes later, Sherlock placed his fingers to her wrist and shook his head very gently. She was gone. Sherlock plucked the child back from her arms. Amy hadn't really been holding her, Sherlock had been holding her to her chest, but it was all the same in the end, she had died with her child in her arms. John felt his eyes well with tears and he lay his head in his bloody hands.

He'd never cried in front of Sherlock, not once, but even the detective seemed to understand that under the circumstances a little emotion was not out of place.  
"We can't save them all John." He said eventually, in an oddly soothing tone. "You did your absolute best... likely she was dehydrated from being in here for three hours... or unknowingly anaemic... you couldn't have predicted a haemorrhage, not on this scale certainly... even if you could have predicted it, there was no saving her in here under these circumstances." John knew Sherlock was making sense, but it didn't make it hurt any less. John had lost patients before, in battle, in the aftermath, he'd had people bleed out on him before but none of it seemed so tragic as a young widow dying in childbirth, leaving her newborn baby an orphan before she'd even opened her eyes.

John's heart hurt. He could hear the baby crying and finally drew his eyes up to where Sherlock was kneeling, cradling the little girl in his arms, gently daubing her skin with the jacket of John's she was wrapped in. John had never seen Sherlock treat anything other than his violin with such tenderness, perhaps even emotionally stunted Sherlock Holmes realised the gravity of the situation, though his eyes were much drier than John's.

He couldn't stop trembling, his entire body shuddering his line of vision kept falling to Amy who did not look peaceful in death, her hair tousled and sweaty, clinging to her deathly pale face, from the waist down she was covered in blood which had finally stopped pouring (no heartbeat to pulse it out). Sherlock followed his gaze and frowned softly. Sherlock had seen his fair share of death, but never in a situation like this. He clambered to his feet, careful not to drop the whimpering child in his arms, he manouevered John backwards and sat in front of him, blocking his view of Amy, surely only trying to help.  
"John, you did all you could." He said firmly to his blanched friend. "You saved Jay's life and you did your best for Amy." Jay. Oh yes. The baby had a name. John stared at her, Sherlock had wiped her mostly clean, her dark hair still sticking up at odd angles with drying amniotic fluid and blood.

"Oh god." John groaned. "Sherlock she needs feeding... if this lift doesn't start working soon..."  
"She'll be fine for an hour or so and if worst comes to worst I'm fairly certain we can extract lactal fluid post-humously." John cringed slightly, he didn't like the sound of that but Sherlock was always practical. John shivered again and leaned forward, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock's arms were occupied, he could not offer any comfort to John physically other than his sheer presence.

John lost track of how long they kneeled there, in an awkward three person huddle beside a dead body. Jay sobbed her little heart out, obviously she was unaware of the situation but all John could hear was a baby, crying for a mother that would never come and he teared up again a few times. Sherlock appeared to be very deep in thought and only moved when the lights above flickered into life.  
"Hello, lift 3 any occupants?" Came a crackly voice over the intercom. Sherlock got to his feet and made his way to the emergency call button, he heard a gasp as the CCTV came back online. "What happened!?" Came the voice once more.  
"Death during childbirth, we've got a dead woman, a neglected newborn and a man in a state of shock." Sherlock reeled off, pressing the button as he spoke. It took John a moment to realise the man in shock was himself.  
"Oh god, right well we're back online, if you press floor three we'll have a team to meet you when you come out." Sherlock pressed 3 and the lift clattered to life, bringing them back up to maternity.

"John." Sherlock said, dragging the doctor to his feet with his injured arm. "John listen to me." Sherlock urged, because all John could hear was Sherlock's voice and white noise. "I'm about to lie through my teeth, no matter how insane I sound I NEED you to back me up, got it?" John nodded stiffly, staring numbly down at himself in the newly accquired light, he was covered in blood that was not his own. Oh god.

The medical team swooped in as soon as the doors opened, swarming over Amy, confirming the tragic truth that she was dead but still attempting resuscitation that would never work. Sherlock did not hand Jay over, but he followed the medics away from the lift and into a side room, taking John's hand and tugging him along behind.  
"Okay so, who are you?" A very frantic looking nurse asked, trying desperately to get a peek at the child, who Sherlock was concealing quite well.  
"I'm Sherlock, this is John." Sherlock said, John was dimly aware of Sherlock's hand in his, it felt warm, safe, grounding but Sherlock was not relinquishing his hold on Jay, squirming and wailing in his arm.  
"And which one of you is the father?" She asked.  
"Well, neither of us and both of us." Sherlock replied quickly. "We're the adoptive parents." It was a mark of just how frazzled John was that he didn't panic or kick off or demand to know what the hell Sherlock was playing at, he just stared blankly at the orphaned baby in Sherlock's embrace.

A/n: What the hell is Sherlock actually doing!? Adoption does not work like that Sherlock! (Also, massive thanks to my RP partner Ella, she and I have been rping with Jay involved for a while and even though she says Jay was my idea I LOVE the way she writes her, so massive hugs to her!) Reviews are like gold dust to me! Please?


	2. That's Not How Adoption Works

"Okay, that's fine but we really need to check the baby over now, Sherlock." The nurse said kindly. "And your boyfriend looks like he could do with a strong cup of tea..." She added, glancing at John, vacant and distant.  
"She was deprived of oxygen for a little while during the birth. Less than a minute. Felt like longer." Sherlock said tentatively, bobbing Jay carefully. "Will she be okay?"  
"Well I can't really answer that until I've had a look, I know you've had quite an ordeal but I promise you we'll take good care of her." She swore, placing her hand on her heart. Sherlock did not look certain but reluctantly handed Jay over to the nurse. "Someone will be in momentarily to check you two over. I'm so sorry for your loss." Her voice was genuinely sweet but the moment that she left John felt a great weight lift off his shoulders and he collapsed into a chair, exhausted. The hospital ward was too bright and very noisy, they were in a little side room on the maternity ward and John could hear babies howling and the agonizing screams of women in labour.

Sherlock was tapping away at his phone hurriedly, one hand on John's shoulder.  
"What... what was that all about?" John asked him, his tone soft and bewildered. Sherlock squeezed his shoulder gently.  
"They won't let us stay and find out how she is unless we're direct relatives. Listen I'm going to sneak out for a cigarette and I need to make a phone call, don't answer any of their questions until I come back, okay?" Sherlock said firmly, John could only nod briefly in response, dimly conscious of the fact Sherlock was leaving him. Sherlock hesitated before bending down and placing a kiss on John's forehead, which was odd, but all in all it was not the weirdest thing of the day, then he left the room.

John didn't need to have been told not to answer any questions, he could barely remember his own name, his voice stuck in his throat as a midwife, not used to dealing with this sort of thing, scrubbed John's hands and forearms and wiped the blood from his skin. He could hear the man talking but it was all going in one ear and out the other, a faint buzzing where words should be.  
"Right, sorry about that, gagging for a fag - you know how it is." Sherlock said, noting the severe nicotine staining on the midwife's fingers as he swept dramatically back into the room. "Did promise I'd quit when the baby arrived but... well. It's been a long day." He admitted, feigning sheepishness. At the mention of the baby, John felt the world suddenly swim back in to harsh focus. Baby, right.

"How is she? Jay?" He asked the midwife who was sponging at his forehead now - how on earth had John managed to get blood on his face for goodness sake?  
"That's a lovely name. They've given her a bath and some formula." He told him gently. "It doesn't look like the oxygen deprivation did any permanent damage. They want to keep her in overnight for obs."  
"Understandable." Sherlock agreed, still tip-tapping at the keys on his phone. John nodded slowly. Oxygen deprivation? Oh right the cord round her neck... god that seemed like forever ago. According to the clock ticking merrily onward on the wall it was just after midnight. Had it really only been four hours ago that his biggest problem was Sherlock's stitches?

"They'll want to ask you some questions." The midwife, whose name-tag read 'Dylan' explained.  
"We'll answer them in the morning, I think we've really had enough for one night." Sherlock fronted genuinely. John nodded wearily in agreement, the last thing he needed right now was to recount it all.  
"Given the situation and the fact we have a free room here - slow night tonight, we're happy to let you two spend the night here, unless you want to go to A&E?" Dylan queried. John shook his head. No. No more bloody elevators and he didn't trust his legs on the stairs. He glanced longingly at the bed. "Okay, I'll bring Jay down to see you in an hour or so if either of you are still awake." He said kindly, and slipped out the door.

"They're not going to be happy when they find out we're not actually her parents." John mumbled, all but crawling into the bed, it was only a single bed, designed for giving birth on but John didn't care right now, he didn't mind the sticky plastic hospital issue sheets or the too-hard pillows. He wanted his head to stop buzzing and sleep seemed like the best option.  
"Ah yes, well... about that... we're keeping her." Sherlock said bluntly. John chuckled and buried his cheek into the pillow.  
"Don't be daft." He mumbled.  
"I'm serious." Sherlock said with a nod. John frowned, he was not up for Sherlock's nonsense right now, but this was the sort of thing he couldn't just go to sleep and ignore, Sherlock's face was completely straight.  
"Sherlock... she's not ours." John said gently.  
"She will be. We're adopting her." He explained, speaking as though John was being slow deliberately.  
"Sherlock, that's not how adoption works! You can't just decide you're having a baby and waltz out of the hospital with one!" He groaned.

"I know, Mycroft's falsifying the documents as we speak. We applied for an open adoption five and a half months ago, shortly after Amy's husband died. We intended to give her full maternal rights and we were just family friends who were offering to help out, with us as the primary caregivers and Amy able to come and go as she pleased." John gripped the bridge of his nose and gave a heavy sigh.  
"Sherlock, look it's a nice idea but..." He tried to keep his voice level, because honestly his best friend was a complete crackpot, it was after midnight, it had been the day from hell and John really really wasn't up for an argument.  
"But nothing." Sherlock's tone was icy. "She did not want that child in the foster care system."  
"The foster care system's REALLY not that bad. Plus she's a newborn and she's gorgeous, she'll be adopted in next to no time." Sherlock bowed his head for a moment, eyes darkened with something John couldn't name.

"I won't allow it." Sherlock growled lowly.  
"Sherlock, you and I can't raise a baby!" John said, realising just how serious Sherlock was about this. "I know you're trying to help and... it's really sweet that you care but babies need time and attention you have to get up every three hours to change and feed them..."  
"I rarely sleep anyway." Sherlock said batting his hand.  
"They also need love and care." John continued, feeling a bit like a father already, trying to explain to a toddler why they could not have a puppy.  
"Which I admit is not my strong suit, however I believe you are more than capable in that department." Sherlock said in a complimentary tone.  
"Uh... thanks I think? That's not the point, Sherlock." John propped himself up onto his elbow to look at Sherlock who looked resolutely determined. "Our lifestyle... it isn't really compatible with raising a child."

"I understand that. I have informed Lestrade that if there is any element of weaponry involved in a case then I shan't take it, though I didn't explain why yet." Sherlock's tone was grim, as though he really did not like the idea of having to take on less dangerous/exciting cases, but he was certain there would be interesting cold cases, and fantastic puzzles in non-murderous scenarios.  
"It's not just the danger Sherlock, you can't have decomposing heads next to the baby formula!" John scolded.  
"All unsanitary experiments will be restricted to the lab at St. Bart's." Sherlock reassured him. John groaned, bloody bastard had thought of everything. "She already told us she didn't have any family, nor did her husband. I had Mycroft run a check, the closest living relative is an elderly second cousin in Australia who's never heard of them. They have no close friends, she'd pretty much isolated herself after the death of her husband. There is nobody else to take the baby."

John sat up properly to survey Sherlock, still looking quietly determined.  
"Sherlock this is madness okay? We're not actually a couple and I don't think either of us are capable of raising a child..."  
"Is it the prospect of being seen as a gay couple that's putting you off?" Sherlock queried curiously, an eyebrow raised.  
"No. It's the prospect of being in charge of _an_ _actual human being_ that's putting me off." He answered honestly. "Look, I know what you're trying to do and your heart's in the right place but... she'll find a home Sherlock. She'll be taken in and loved by a proper family, somewhere safe and stable. Kids need stability and we're anything but..."  
"I can be stable." Sherlock swore, looking at John desperately. John shook his head.

"No, Sherlock. It's a no. Tomorrow we're going to tell the truth and say goodbye to that little girl and wish her the best of luck, okay? Right now we just need to sleep. You'll feel differently tomorrow when the adrenaline's died down." He tried to keep his voice calm and solid because really, Sherlock was breaking his heart. Sherlock didn't always understand how the world worked, and obviously didn't see that raising a baby with your straight flatmate was not really doable alongside running around London shooting criminals.  
"And if I don't?" Sherlock asked as John lay his head back onto the pillow.  
"We'll talk tomorrow." John yawned. Sherlock quietly agreed that yes, they would talk tomorrow. John evidently needed to sleep on it.

-

When John woke up there was a quiet moment where he'd forgotten it all, only for reality to seep in at every corner when he opened his eyes to see Sherlock striding round the room with a baby in his arms.  
"Morning." John yawned.  
"Yes, morning." Sherlock said absently. John forced himself to sit up, he felt stale and dirty in yesterday's clothes.  
"Mycroft doesn't think he can do this without your consent." Sherlock stressed. "With my track history, death drugs etcetera, an adoption request filed in my name only would never have been approved... if anybody goes digging they'll realise something's wrong." He said, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. John blinked, remembering the previous night's conversation. Oh right, yeah. Sherlock wanted them to pretend to be a gay couple and adopt an orphaned child from a dead woman they didn't know from Eve.

"I know that you don't want to do this, John." Sherlock began.  
"You can say that again." Sherlock cocked his head in confusion.  
"I know that you don't want to do this, John." Sherlock repeated, a little uncertainly. John hated when Sherlock accidentally took him literally - it was always such a huge reminder that his brain was wired up differently. "But I can't do this on my own. If you want no part in caring for her then that's fine but I am asking you as a friend to sign these papers with me." He pleaded, and goddamnit how could a grown man look so pitiful? John assumed the addition of an infant in his arms was a long way towards it.

"Sherlock no, you can't use the 'I'm asking as a friend' bit on this one. You can ask me as a friend to let you borrow my laptop, you can ask me as a friend to pick up milk on my way home, you can't ask me as a friend to help you illegally adopt a child!" John told him firmly. Sherlock looked momentarily put out, he shook his head, curls flying everywhere.  
"I'll have to change my story then... Molly. Molly would help." He mumbled distractedly, balancing Jay in one arm while going for his phone.

"No, you're not dragging Molly into this." John warned him, because lovely soppy Molly was just in love enough with Sherlock to agree to this mental plan.  
"Then who, John!?" Sherlock demanded, eyes flashing maliciously. "My best friend won't help me, the police are already starting to ask questions - who else can I turn to, John?" He asked and John felt a shiver run up and down his spine at the intensity in Sherlock's gaze.  
"Sherlock, it's not about us... it's about giving that little girl." He indicated to the baby, apparently fast asleep. "A proper home."  
"221B Baker Street is the first place I have ever felt truly at home. It can be just as much a home for her as it is for me. Just... just sign the papers with me. In a month or so we can stage a break up and I'll take full custody, I swear. I'd prefer to raise her together but you don't have to have anything to do with her if you don't want to." Sherlock's voice was low and soft, he sounded genuinely hurt and John sighed. Sherlock was a complete nutter, absolutely bonkers, totally without marbles.

Sherlock sat on the end of John's bed, with Jay curled against his chest.  
"You honestly think we're capable of raising a child?" John asked gently, shuffling closer to take a look. All cleaned up and dressed, Jay looked quite sweet, her hair was either very dark brown or black and even cleaned it stuck up in odd spikes, surprisingly thick for a newborn, her eyes were shut serenely, not screwed up.  
"I was up with her all night, the midwife brought her in... I gave her a bottle and changed her nappy twice. So yes, I think so." He mumbled awkwardly.

"What about when she's five and she asks us why the other children in school have a mummy and a daddy?" John had said a key word. 'Us'. Sherlock gulped and dared to hope.  
"We explain to her that sometimes men love women and sometimes men love other men..." Sherlock said hopefully, that sounded about right.  
"What about when she's ten and wants to wear make up?" John pitched.  
"We explain to her that sometimes women have low self esteem and wear make up to make them feel better or look sexually attractive to other men... or women. We tell her she can wear it when she's older." Well... Sherlock got that one half right.  
"And when she's fifteen and hates the world, and both of us, and wants to stay out all night with boys?"  
"I dig up their criminal records and show her what utter wastes of space the boys undoubtedly are?" Sherlock ventured, John looked pointedly at him. Bzzt. Wrong apparently. "Boys are your department." Sherlock decided, stroking Jay's hair gently.

John frowned, he didn't know why he was even considering this - Sherlock was off his rocker, but he was determined if nothing else. John reached over and placed his finger in Jay's palm, even asleep she instinctively gripped onto it with a startling amount of strength.  
"If sentimental appeals are more persuasive, I'm sure Amy would have preferred you have her than anybody else... you comforted her during the worst pain of her life, you brought Jay into the world and saved her life and you grieved when Amy slipped away." Sherlock pushed.  
"Yeah yeah alright, stop with the emotional blackmail." John grumbled. "Where would she even stay, Sherlock? We don't have room for a nursery." He attempted, knowing his protests were becoming thinner and thinner.  
"They stay in the same room as their parents for the first six to twelve months or so anyway, I have space for a cot in my bedroom..." Sherlock answered quickly.  
"A baby is expensive..." John started but was cut off immediately.  
"Not a problem, I have a rather sizeable inheritance... to be fair Mycroft controls it which is why I rarely access it but this seems an appropriate use of my funds."

"What does Mycroft have to say about all this anyway? I mean I know he's willing to forge documents and stuff but really..."  
"He... does not approve of me doing it alone." Sherlock admitted. "But if you choose to be involved, Mycroft gives us his full blessing." Again with the gentle pushing, and John was on a dangerous precipice as it was. "John... I wouldn't choose just anybody to raise a child with. I wouldn't ask unless I knew you would be an amazing father." Damn the backhanded compliments were out to play. Manipulative mad man.  
"What if we get caught?" John asked weakly.  
"Mycroft can have all the applications backdated, as far as the law is concerned it will all be above board. She had nobody in her life to protest it and she was quiet during all her midwife appointments." John frowned and stared at the tiny child, still uncertain as to whether this was a brilliant idea or a terrible one.

"Why are you so against her going into the system... you've never shown any paternal tendencies, I didn't think you wanted kids... do you even like kids?"  
"That's... a lot of questions." Sherlock said with a deep frown as Jay's eyelids fluttered open. Her eyes were disturbingly bright blue and even though John knew newborns could not see very well she seemed to be hyper aware of her surroundings. "I like children... it's adults that annoy me. Children ask the difficult questions, children aren't afraid of life and death and inevitability. Though I never thought I'd have any of my own... I do quite like children."

Jay tightened her tiny fist around John's finger.  
"Look at her Sherlock, she's stunning. She'd be adopted straight away..."  
"You don't know that. She could be left in the system for months, years even. She's young enough not to know now but if she's in the foster care system during her formative years she'll end up with serious psychological damage, more-so than I could inflict I'm sure... Amy didn't like foster care, nor did her husband..." Sherlock paused, really not wanting to admit to this. He'd never mentioned it. "And neither did I."  
"You were adopted?" Sherlock shook his head. "In foster care?" John asked incredulously, Sherlock took a sudden interest in the fabric of Jay's baby-grow, apparently the subject was not open for discussion.

"Hi." Said a voice, and Dylan the midwife had popped his head around the door. "You have a visitor."  
"Oh?" John queried, wondering who knew they were here. Dylan stood back and Mycroft appeared in the doorway.  
"I'll leave you to it, but the police still want a word." Dylan told them before vanishing once more. John felt Mycroft's gaze squarely on him.  
"Tick tock, Sherlock." Mycroft said, sitting elegantly in the stiff armchair by the bed. "It's all sorted, just needs a signature from each of you and a click of a button for all the appropriate paperwork to be in place." Sherlock glanced hopelessly from Jay to John.  
"I... John didn't exactly agree..." Sherlock trailed off, frowning under the scrutinizing look his brother was sending him.

"You didn't get his permission before you decided to adopt a child together. You never do get permission when it matters." Mycroft said sternly. "Sherlock, even with the best intentions in the world I cannot with good conscience sign over a child in to your sole care. You know what you're like, as half of a parental unit you may just suffice but on your own you are not capable of providing the kind of affection and care needed to raise a baby." And something snapped - John felt a sudden well of anger directed at Mycroft, because Sherlock was trying, in a very messed up bizarre way, but he was trying - and being insulted like that was not in any way helpful. Accusing Sherlock of being inappropriate was one thing but to outright tell his younger brother that he was incapable of love? That was just cruel. John thought he saw Sherlock's grip tighten ever so slightly around Jay and felt a surge of affection for the eccentric creature that was Sherlock Holmes.

Jay surely didn't have a clue what was being said, but began to whimper.  
"Sherlock... hand her over to the appropriate authorities, for her own sake. It really is kinder..." He trailed off and Sherlock's grip definitely tightened. John frowned. People insulted Sherlock all the time, told him he was weird or a freak, Sherlock never reacted this badly, never visibly showed he was affected. Perhaps Mycroft's words had hit too close to the bone. It was sheer madness, a fury that the world always told Sherlock who he was and what he was capable of, that drove John to speak.  
"Where do we sign?" He asked, without a waiver in his voice. Sherlock's head snapped up to look at John, who nodded softly. He'd evidently lost his mind but...

"Ah." Mycroft said with a small smile, and John got the sudden nasty feeling that Mycroft had manipulated the situation just to provoke that response from John. Bloody Holmes brothers. He pulled a tablet out of his briefcase and handed it to John, who scanned the page then picked up the tablet pen. He glanced once more at Jay, then at Sherlock, still wide eyed with surprise, before scrawling 'John Hamish Watson' onto a dotted line. Sherlock carefully swapped Jay for the tablet, letting John hold the baby girl properly for the first time as he signed his own loopy signature onto a separate line. They watched the screen as it triplicated the signatures and attached them to the appropriate places before Sherlock handed it back. Mycroft pressed a few buttons, received an email on his blackberry, responded, received another email then nodded.

"Well, according to all known records your application to adopt the unborn child of Amy and Jay MacDonald was approved four months ago. Congratulations, you just became parents." Mycroft simpered, still smiling blandly. John gulped, people did not just become parents overnight with the flick of a switch, nobody just wound up with a daughter in their arms without having impregnated anybody or spending months and years going through mountains of criminal background checks and adoption processes. People normally had time to adjust to the arrival of a child. Things like this didn't happen to normal people, but then again - they were hardly normal people. As he looked at the baby - now his daughter, John felt oddly unafraid of it all.  
"Thank you." Sherlock whispered softly, John could only nod mutely in response. It had been the weirdest 24 hours of his life, and that was saying something.

"Technically Jay has inherited all of Ms MacDonald's belongings, there's no property involved but a rented flat full of possessions, my people will be bringing some necessary essentials over to 221b while you're liaising with the police but it will be your job as carers to sort through her belongings."  
"It's a bloody good job Mrs Hudson's away til Thursday... not sure how well she'd react to the British Government showing up with prams and cots..." Sherlock seemed to approve of the mental image John provided, because he was unable to suppress a smirk.  
"I have the rest covered. You'll find your phone records have been modified accordingly." Mycroft spoke as though he was giving them a mission. John flicked out his mobile phone and sure enough there were some calls to and from an 'Amy M' in his history list.  
"You're a scary bastard, you know that Mycroft?" John ventured. Mycroft smiled thinly.  
"And you've met my brother." Mycroft stood.

"You've also been booked three weeks off of work at the surgery, your boss is furious that the uh 'dozy' I believe was the word she used, secretary didn't tell her beforehand." Mycroft added helpfully, John nodded and glanced at the clock, 12 noon... damn he'd been asleep a long while. He was glad someone had called Sarah and let her know.  
"Yeah, thanks."  
"Very well, I'll check on you in a couple of days and good luck." And with that he swept from the room in Sherlock's usual dramatic fashion.

The next few hours were spent in a blur of police liaison officers, calls from therapists and funeral homes, John had to recount the tale (a slightly modified version of the truth, but mostly the truth) over and over until he was fed up of hearing it. It sounded like a bad soap opera plot-line. When they were finally let go, John was sick to the back teeth of all the pitying looks they were given. Sherlock had been allowed in all his interviews, as had he with Sherlock's and they had seamlessly fabricated an entire relationship as close to the truth as possible, playing on what had been in the papers and so on. All the background checks and records (which the liaison officer was embarrassed to admit he hadn't been able to find earlier that morning, but had mysteriously showed up when he ran a second search that afternoon) came back clean (though John's ASBO had unfortunately not been wiped from his record) and they were sent home with telephone numbers of who to contact vis-à-vis funerals and counselling.

Stepping out into the bright sunlight of the afternoon, John was suddenly hit with a realisation.  
"Wait, how are we even going to get her home - we don't have a booster seat, she can't go in a cab without one, it's a hell of a walk and your shoulder's still..."  
"When Mycroft said he had it covered." Sherlock said, indicating a large black limo in the hospital car park.  
"Oh god." John groaned. "That's one for the baby book - baby's first taxi." He said sarcastically. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.  
"Babies require books? Is there a manual I'm supposed to have read or..."  
"I... you know what never mind." John shook his head, this was going to be interesting. Sherlock had Jay, he'd barely let her go since she was born, he struggled a little getting her into the booster seat, faffing over which straps went where. It was somewhat endearing actually, watching normally put together Sherlock fussing over a few safety catches. John leaned over and clicked the fork-connector into place. Sherlock frowned.  
"I... may have a lot to learn." He admitted. John sighed once more.  
"You and me both, mate."

A/n: ...Sherlock and John... have a baby!? What... I don't even... gah reviews would be nice but don't send me hate about adoption procedures and stuff I KNOW it's a long and arduous process but Mycroft's the British bloody Government and if anybody can pull all that claptrap nonsense above off he can!


	3. Welcome Home

Returning to Baker Street John felt it had been an eternity since he'd been home, and was slightly stunned at the sight that met his eyes.  
"When Mycroft said a few 'necessary essentials'..." He said cautiously, looking at the living room which appeared to be the epicentre of an explosion at Mothercare, everywhere he looked there were bits of dismantled cot and mobiles, a pile of wood that looked like it could be a wardrobe, boxes of Pampers and crates of baby wipes as well as a mountain of baby formula standing against the fire place.  
"Ah..." Sherlock agreed, the booster seat containing Jay dangling from his good arm. "Well... how are you with flat pack furniture?" He queried, settling the seat in front of the washing machine in the kitchen - the only area on their floor not occupied with 'necessary essentials'.

As it turned out John was a bit not good with flat pack furniture... well, not very good at all actually.  
"Oh for fuck's sake!" He complained trying to affix the headboard to the cot after a well earned cup of tea and a biscuit, and a quick shower and change of clothes. "'_Some assembly required_' my arse! When I was in my twenties, flat pack furniture just required a hammer and two bits of wood and ta-da you had a new china cabinet, this... for this you need a degree in physics, a foreign language accreditation and a bloody city and guilds certificate! **And** a million and one fucking pins NONE of which are the right bloody size..." He growled overusing the term 'bloody' in a subconscious reference to his thumb, pricked when he tugged one of the pins from the incorrect slot.

Sherlock for the most part was not being particularly helpful, occasionally pointing out the inaccuracies in the Swedish translation from the instructions, and surveying some of the cuddly toys with a critical eye.  
"What breed of bear is this even supposed to be?" He asked, tipping it upside down. "Definitely the colouring of a standard grizzly but the proportions are way off... it almost looks like it was designed to walk predominantly bipedally." He frowned, unable to make sense of it.

"Sherlock." John said exasperatedly, removing the screwdriver from his mouth. "I really don't think toys designed for children have to be anatomically correct."  
"I can understand why they'd omit the genitals for the sake of decency but why on earth is it necessary to dumb down the basic aesthetics..." He continued, frowning with his whole face furrowed in absolute confusion, still examining the bear.  
"Oh just give it a rest, would you? Do something useful." John said, waving Sherlock away just as Jay began screaming. Good timing.  
"Ah yes, useful." Sherlock leapt up and rushed into the kitchen. John's frustrating task of putting the crib together was not aided by a screaming baby, who Sherlock struggled to quieten, even after changing her nappy and offering her a bottle.

"I don't understand... she's clean, she's not hungry... why is she crying?" Sherlock wondered aloud, becoming irritated by her screeching.  
"I don't bloody know do I?" John grumbled, sucking his thumb where he'd hit it with the hammer, re-opening the wound. "She's probably tired."  
"She slept most of the morning though..."  
"That's what babies do Sherlock, they cry, they sleep, they eat - then they sick it up, they sleep, they fill their nappies then they sleep some more. Gotchya you bastard!" He cheered the last bit, finally slotting the headboard into place.  
"We should probably work on your language..." Sherlock mused, bobbing Jay gently over his shoulder, which didn't stop her crying but resulted in an odd wobbly sound to it.  
"Sherlock she's 16 hours old... she doesn't give a damn about language yet okay." He said, standing up and balancing the half built cot against the sofa to work on the foot-board.  
"Still... I'm to understand they're very easily influenced."  
"Yes, yes, okay. I'll cut down on the swearing when I've got this fucking cot together..." He fumed, finding the foot-board just as infuriating as the headboard. Sherlock shrugged, rubbing Jay's back softly to try quell her wailing.

"It's a good thing Mrs Hudson's hearing isn't what it used to be, this would drive her round the bend in a couple of weeks." Sherlock mused. John was busy trying to force the sliding side of the cot into place and only grunted in response. "Though I do think she'll be rather fond of her... might make for a convenient babysitter..." he continued, holding Jay at arm's length and frowning at her. "Why won't you be quiet?" He demanded.  
"Sherlock, you can't just tell a baby to be quiet, that's not how it works." John said sternly.  
"When she gets a little older I'll calmly explain to her that this sort of racket just isn't acceptable behaviour." John rubbed the bridge of his nose, Sherlock may like children but he had even less of an understanding of how they worked than he did of adults.  
"Yeah, good luck with that one." He forced the panel a little harder than he ought to have but it gave a resounding CLICK of approval.

"Done! One cot." He announced proudly, stepping back to survey his handiwork before realising he had one of the bars still in his hand... what? He glanced at the cot, all bars firmly in place before giving a shrug and tossing the spare part over his shoulder.  
"Excellent. Now for the wardrobe." Sherlock said over Jay's incessant screaming.  
"Fuck off," John said firmly, collapsing onto the sofa.  
"Definitely need to work on the language." Sherlock chided but John was too exhausted to bother telling him where he could stick his language. Adding to the din, Sherlock's phone began to ring. "Lestrade's calling, presumably about last night's text... I'll deal with him later, if this one ever stops crying."  
"Oh god yeah, Lestrade..." John realised as it suddenly hit him.

"Sherlock what are we going to tell our friends?"  
"The same as we told the hospital that Amy was a family friend of mine and..." Sherlock started, fully prepared to launch into their well-rehearsed story.  
"Yes yes I know that bit!" John cut in, stopping him before he could get into his stride. "I meant the whole... us being a couple thing? Our friends know us they know we're not..."  
"Our so called friends have had their aspersions about our private lives since day one." Sherlock informed him. "Us being a 'couple' in the conventional sense will not come as a surprise to anybody... in fact Mrs Hudson told me fairly recently that I ought to put a ring on your finger to stop you 'dilly-dallying with those dozy women'." The smirk that graced Sherlock's face was very unbecoming.  
"Great so the whole world thinks I'm gay?" John groaned. "You do realise this is going to make getting a girlfriend an absolute nightmare?" Sherlock shrugged, this was not his concern right now, still trying in vain to shush Jay, who was now red in the face from crying at full volume.

"Oh god, Harry!" John said suddenly. "She's actually going to kill me..." He drew his hand down over his face with a groan.  
"For adopting a baby, I fail to see how that could invoke anger..."  
"No, she'll **love** the fact I've adopted a baby, she's going to kill me for not 'coming out' to her even when I was asked a million times if we were together." He paused. "Oh god everybody DID think we were together." He sighed and picked up his mobile. "I better call her and explain can you _please _shut her up?"  
"I am trying!" Sherlock snapped, his patience wearing thin. "Listen, small person." He started, very seriously, and John couldn't help it, he laughed and not a little chuckle or a sly giggle, a full on, doubled over, belly laugh. Sherlock trying to reason with a screaming child was just the icing on the weirdness cake of their life. Sherlock blushed. "If it's so easy, you do it!" Sherlock argued, handing Jay over to John who took her, still in the tail end of a laugh.

"Okay okay, shhh now." John comforted her, reverting to the tone most adults adopted when talking to a baby. "Come on then, what's there to cry about, eh?" He soothed, wiping her tears away with his thumb, suddenly struck by how tiny she was. Of course, she had a lot to cry about, really - but she didn't know that. She hiccuped and her crying slowed to a sniffle.  
"I thought you said you can't just tell them..." Sherlock observed, leaning over the back of the sofa to peer at her in fascination.  
"Well you can't, but talking softly and just paying her attention works... Look see, she's just tired like I said." John said, nodding to Jay who was giving a yawn her very best shot. "We'll move the crib into the bedroom later." John did not specify which bedroom. "She's fine to sleep in here for now, just don't be too loud." He warned Sherlock, clambering to his feet, rocking Jay a little as he stood and she slipped quite easily into sleep while Sherlock sorted out the bedding. He lay her in the crib and spent just a moment looking at her.

She was rather beautiful, when she wasn't howling. The midwife had told him she was 6lb 7oz, a decent size apparently but it was still only bags of sugar in John's mind. Sherlock seemed to be staring at her with the same rapt attention, so John shook his head to snap out of it.  
"Right I'm going to call my sister you... just don't blow up the house okay?" He suggested, but Sherlock didn't move, still peeking into the crib in mild awe. John decided to take the phone call upstairs, away from the hubbub. Sherlock remained at the side of the cot for a few minutes, taking in Jay's physical features. Dark, spiky hair, pale skin, although closed, her eyes were currently blue but they were subject to change as the pigment developed, obviously.  
"Perhaps we should have got a dog first?" Sherlock mused, trailing his fingers over Jay's cheek, she felt soft and oddly fuzzy and Sherlock was reminded strongly of a peach. He could hear John shouting upstairs, the conversation with his sister evidently going swimmingly.

Sherlock was itching to perform an experiment, even mould cultures or something basic, but he had promised and he couldn't exactly break a promise (not this soon, anyway). Yes, sacrifices would have to be made. When John eventually came down, half an hour later, Sherlock had for once in his life made a cup of tea.  
"What, we get a baby and you turn into a proper house-husband?" John queried, eyeing the tea suspiciously. "This one's not drugged, is it?"  
"No, it's not." Sherlock had been told his experimentation on John at Baskerville was very wrong, he did not need to be constantly reminded (even if he deemed it perfectly acceptable in the name of scientific discovery). "How's Harriet?"  
"Very annoyed." John sighed. "And good lord that woman can scream... think my ears may actually be bleeding. She wants to come for a visit..."  
"Ah." Sherlock said awkwardly, he'd met Harry Watson once and she'd been rather drunk and a bit too loud for Sherlock's liking, though her brash no-nonsense attitude and tendency to speak her mind had appealed to Sherlock's rebellious side, he had frankly gone off the woman when she had thrown up on his shoes.

"I was thinking..." John started tentatively.  
"Always dangerous." Quipped Sherlock, sipping at his tea, fairly certain a visit from Harry was on the cards.  
"Well, when I was explaining this... situation to Harry it occurred to me that we're going to have to tell this story about fifty times over if we stop and explain it to Molly and Greg and Mrs Hudson and... everyone." He frowned, gesticulating vaguely at the room at large as though 'everyone' were present. "And well if we're going to 'come out' and introduce her and everything... we might as well do it all in one fell swoop."

"Oh you don't mean a party?" Sherlock moaned, he hated parties, he barely tolerated their annual Christmas get together and always offended at least two people.  
"Just a bit of a get together on Thursday when Mrs Hudson gets back, it'll save time and energy in the long run... and we won't invite Anderson." John added. "Or Donovan, friends only." Sherlock scowled.  
"Oh at least let me have some fun, if you're going to force me to socialise you can at least invite Anderson so I'll have somebody to insult."  
"Fine, we WILL invite Anderson." John countered. Sherlock was still scowling into his tea.  
"Not that I'm an avid follower of the societal norms but is it really prudent to throw a party when a young woman is dead?"  
"No... it's not. But I really feel like after all that we need _something _to celebrate." John answered honestly.  
"No alcohol." Sherlock said firmly. "Last time Lestrade got drunk and spent the entire night ogling Molly's breasts and then flirting with my brother..." He added sternly, then gave a small shudder at the thought of anybody flirting with Mycroft.  
"Deal. Thursday. No booze. Quiet get together, Anderson and Donovan welcome. Got it." John finalised, taking out his mobile and beginning to send texts, inviting people over for a gathering.

"And none of your insipid ex-girlfriends." Sherlock grumbled, put out that he'd have to spend a night entertaining.  
"Not even Sarah, she is my boss..."  
"Not even Sarah." Sherlock demanded. "Unless you want to spend the entire evening explaining to her why you were trying to get into her knickers when you were supposedly beginning a relationship with me."  
"Ah... okay fair point." John had to concede defeat on this one, it would be awkward to try rationalise that. He'd have to tell her eventually but he was entitled to be a bit sketchy with the details and he wasn't in contact with most of his ex-girlfriends who had ironically left him because of his over attachment to Sherlock. Best not to think about that actually, people might think they were swingers or something.

The first night with a baby was absolute hell. Even though Jay was in Sherlock's room and he was getting up to tend to her, John was woken each time she howled and his concern grew when she didn't immediately quieten, so he ended up wandering down at 3am to see what the matter was.  
"I can't get her to stop." Sherlock mumbled, pacing the room with her against his shoulder.  
"Fed her?"  
"Yes." Sherlock glared as though that was obvious.  
"Winded her?" John queried, rubbing his eyes.  
"Yes." Sherlock spat. "Believe it or not I do have a faint idea of what I'm doing." John didn't know who was crankier, Sherlock or Jay.  
"Changed her?"  
"Twice." He countered irritatedly. "If she's crying because she's tired why doesn't she just stop crying and sleep?" He complained, switching her to a cradle position and rocking her.

"She doesn't understand what she needs Sherlock." John sighed. "Look you decided this is going to be our life from now on, okay? You're going to have to deal with sleepless nights and temper tantrums."  
"Mine or hers?" Sherlock asked. "Oh take her will you." He sighed and handed her over. "I'm no good at this." He said defeatedly and John could see the doubt in his eyes as he took over.  
"It's the first night, Sherlock. It will get easier, you will learn to tolerate it, honestly. People have babies all the time, stress, exhaustion, worry, doubt... it's all part and parcel I'm afraid." John told him, sitting down on the bed beside him, so close that their thighs were touching. It took John a good ten minutes and lots of baby talk and soft cooing to get her to stop crying, but she seemed to have no intention of going back to sleep, staring wide eyed up at them both.

"I don't think she likes me." Sherlock said suddenly. "She only stops screaming when you hold her. This could be a problem."  
"Sherlock she's a day old, she doesn't like or dislike anybody at the moment. She will... eventually she will. I told you when you suggested this, babies need time and effort and that's from both of us, right? Look, go to sleep, get some rest. You've been up for pretty much three days straight, no wonder you're knackered." He said sympathetically. Sherlock shook his head.  
"I promised I'd do the night shifts..."  
"And for some mad reason I promised to raise a child with you. I'll pull my weight alright just... go to sleep." Sherlock looked very apprehensive, as though trying to judge whether John was plotting something. Suspicious bastard. "Doctor's orders, sleep." John insisted.  
"You know, prefacing something with 'doctor's orders' doesn't actually give it more weight." Sherlock told him but lay down on his bedover the covers, still eyeing John with extreme caution.

John did a few laps of the room with Jay, aware of Sherlock's eyes on him.  
"I never asked you." Sherlock mumbled, half into his pillow as he was beginning to drift off. "Did you ever want children?" John paused, well, if they were going to be in a fake relationship, cohabit and raise a daughter, he might as well be honest.  
"No. I always thought that if I got a girl pregnant by accident I'd turn into the same waste of space my father was. My mum did brilliantly by me and Harry but... well, kids need two parents really and I never saw myself settling down with any of the girls I dated. Thought maybe I'd find _the one_ and she'd change my mind and we'd want kids but it never happened..." John sighed and stared at Jay, looking on with her innocent blue eyes and a less than attractive spit bubble at the corner of her mouth.  
"Not what you expected then?" Sherlock murmured sleepily.  
"Not exactly, no." John chuckled softly. "I'll walk her round the flat for a bit, maybe put the telly on in the other room or something. I'll bring her back in when she drops off, alright?" John said going for the door, and maybe it was the madness of sleep deprivation but Sherlock's next words were the sort of sentiment he loathed.

"I think I made the right decision... choosing you." Sherlock said softly. John smiled faintly.  
"I bloody hope so, now go to sleep you prat." He said affectionately, before wandering into the living room with Jay.

Thankfully the next night was a little easier, she still woke up screaming, as babies are prone to do but at least with a bit of sleep between the two of them Sherlock and John were not running on empty. The next night went almost as well, though Sherlock was still determined to attempt to reason with Jay, and it was no longer cute - it irked John (who had been on the phone to the funeral home half the evening) to the point he shouted at Sherlock, who shouted back and then Jay screamed and they both felt a little embarrassed and muttered dark apologies and went back to their respective beds. Then came Thursday.

"Right so, we're agreed, you'll stay upstairs with Jay while I do the talking bit?" Sherlock nodded sulkily, disliking being relegated to hiding in a bedroom shortly before the guests started to arrive.  
"I can't guarantee she won't start screaming and ruin the surprise." He told John quite seriously.  
"Yes well, I'll just have to talk quickly then won't I? Lestrade text, Anderson's coming but Donovan's out of town." John added. Sherlock shrugged not really caring either way as a knock came to the door. "Right, off with you."  
"Yes, father." Sherlock grumbled sarkily, disappearing up the stairs and John hesitated only a minute to ponder what pronouns Jay would use when she started talking before going to answer the door. The living room had been cleared of all baby paraphernalia, the bin had been emptied of dirty nappies, to look at nobody would know the flat was occupied by anything other than two eccentric bachelors (one more eccentric than the other).

Mrs Hudson was first to arrive, but then she'd had the least distance to travel. John made her a cuppa while Lestrade let himself in (followed suspiciously closely by Molly, John wondered if there was something going on there), Anderson seemed jittery - he was not used to being in 221b without legal reason. Mycroft strolled in fashionably late and Harry (who had been sworn to secrecy) rolled in when she felt like it.  
"That's... everyone then." John said counting heads. There were not really enough seats, John had pulled in the ones from the dining table, but Anderson was still leaning awkwardly against the fireplace and Molly seemed more than content to situate herself cross legged on the floor next to Harry's feet.  
"Everyone except Sherlock, dear." Mrs Hudson piped up.  
"Ah yeah well, he'll be here in a bit." John said, clapping his hands together and standing in the middle of the room, very conscious that everyone was staring at him, waiting for an explanation of why they'd been called here.  
"You've not killed him then? No one would blame you of course, only he's not been answering his phone all week and normally he doesn't shut up." Lestrade ventured. John smiled weakly.  
"It's been a bit of a long week." John admitted truthfully.

Harry was positively beaming - thinking she was the only person in the room who knew what was coming, Mycroft looked mildly interested in John's dishevelled state but he could have been watching the weather for all the expression his face showed.  
"Right well uhm... Sherlock and I have had a bit of a change in circumstances." Although _a bit _was underplaying it really. "So we've decided to be a bit more honest and open..." He trailed off awkwardly, biting his lip. What was one more lie, eh?  
"Come on, John." Harry prompted loudly.  
"Okay, okay yes uh... well it's probably not going to come as a shock to many of you..." He mumbled awkwardly, because even though only Harry and Mycroft actually**knew** what was about to be said everybody was wearing the same slight smirk, anticipating John's next line. "Sherlock and I are together... like together together."  
"About bloody time you admitted it." Lestrade said with a wolfish grin, John refused to acknowledge the blush on his face but did take note of Anderson typing furiously on his phone.

"We're really happy for you both." Mrs Hudson said, smiling with such genuine warmth John felt a little shameful for the lie.  
"Yeah... uhm well Anderson if you're texting Donovan you might want to wait a minute I'm not done explaining yet." John said, determined to change the subject. Molly looked a little forlorn behind her glee, smiling with just a bit of pain in her eyes. John felt bad for her. "We've uh... we've been together for a long while actually and..."  
"Oh good lord, you're engaged!" Lestrade guessed, looking simultaneously shocked and massively impressed.  
"No. No, we're not engaged." John said hurriedly, before anybody could start clapping. Good lord this was difficult. "We uh... well, five months ago we applied for adoption." Molly gasped, Lestrade's eyes widened and Mrs Hudson's grin spread wider. Anderson looked shell shocked, his hand had stopped moving over his phone's keyboard, too stunned to gossip.

"We didn't want to say anything in case it all fell through." John continued. "Adoption usually takes years and stuff but... well Sherlock and Mycroft had this friend... Amy." John felt a sudden pain in his chest thinking about Amy, would she approve of all this rubbish? "She was widowed six months ago... she was twenty one, she was also three months pregnant." He ploughed on, best to get this over with quickly, everyone was silent, paying rapt attention to John, hanging on his every word. "She was struggling to cope and... well... she wanted her child, very very much. I've never seen someone so in love with their unborn baby." Mycroft raised an eyebrow, unsure why John was deviating but John would not feel right if they assumed the worst about her. John had complete faith that Amy would have been a brilliant mother.

"It was a bit of a weird situation but Sherlock and Amy and I agreed on an open adoption... We'd look after her child primarily but she would retain full maternal rights. She could visit every day and be the child's mother. She seemed relieved really, that she wouldn't have to do it alone but she reserved the right to change her mind at any point." John thought this much at least would be true, if Amy had lived she'd have wanted or needed some kind of support.  
"Oh, John..." Molly squeaked. "That's so lovely!" John blushed a little deeper and ran one hand through his hair.  
"Now I'm sure you've all done the maths and worked out when this baby was supposed to be born but... well... things didn't go to plan." John admitted and he saw Molly's and Mrs Hudson's faces fall. John bit his lip.

"We got a call the other night... to say Amy had gone into labour." John suddenly decided he didn't want them all to know about the escapade in the lift, some things should stay private, he'd give Amy that dignity in death. "We went to the hospital but... well... it didn't go well. The baby was born with the cord around its neck and..." John recalled briefly how blue Jay had gone in his arms and shuddered slightly. Lestrade crossed the room and placed his hand on John's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.  
"If you need a break, mate..."  
"No, no, I've started so I'll finish." John reassured, grateful for his friends really.

"In attempting to get the baby untangled... I don't know something must have pulled too hard or torn or something... the baby was only just freed when Amy started haemorrhaging."  
"Oh, John." Molly whimpered again, tears in her eyes and her hands pressed to her mouth. John would not cry in front of all these people, he refused.  
"Amy died in childbirth." He told them grimly, and didn't let his eyes settle on any of the shocked faces before putting his palm over his eyes. Damn it, he said he wouldn't cry. He sniffed awkwardly and stood up straight. "The funeral's on Saturday and we're understandably well... heartbroken really." That much was true. "Anyway I've prattled on long enough and I'm sure you're all sick of my voice so... without further ado, there's someone very special that we'd like you to meet."

John was thankful for Sherlock's bat-like hearing because his timing was impeccable. He slowly descended the stairs, gracefully and elegantly, the tiny baby in his arms only helped his good looks and John felt oddly proud of them both as they stunned the room to silence.  
"Our daughter, Jay." Sherlock said, his voice a low rumble. How a man could manage to look seductive on little sleep with a sick stain on his shirt, John wasn't entirely sure. The shocked silence didn't last, Harry was on her feet first but certainly not last as people hurried over to peer at the little girl. Sherlock's grace and elegance fell away quite quickly as he looked a little overwhelmed by people crowding him. John chuckled softly, not really at Sherlock's expense but his discomfort was quietly endearing.

John allowed the hubbub for a few minutes.  
"Can I hold her, please, I promise not to drop her!" Molly pleaded, already doe eyed at the sight of an infant. John was briefly reminded that Sherlock had considered her to adopt with and felt slightly uncomfortable with that, until Harry caused trouble by announcing loudly.  
"Back off mousy, I'm a blood relative... sort of!"  
"Bloody hell." Lestrade laughed, speaking directly to Sherlock. "You with a kid, never thought I'd see the day!" Sherlock wasn't sure if that was an insult or a compliment so chose to ignore it.  
"If we all just calm down for a minute." John said raising his hands to silence everyone as they found their way back to their seats. Mrs Hudson stopped and gave John a very motherly sort of hug, there were still tears in her eyes.  
"I think it's wonderful that they let your sort adopt these days, in my day it was only straight, white, married couples allowed to. You're going to be a wonderful father, John!" She promised him, her grip surprisingly strong for a woman of her age.  
"He already is." Sherlock answered as everyone settled down.

"Well, pass her over." Harry ordered and Sherlock frowned, holding Jay tighter to his chest.  
"Sherlock..." John said worriedly, noting his expression. "I know you're protective of her but other people have to be allowed to hold her too." Sherlock still looked incredibly reluctant, eyeing Harry with distrust, Lestrade suddenly on edge, worried this was going to blow up in a Sherlockian manner. Sherlock slowly crouched and lay Jay in Harry's arms.  
"Support her head." He instructed firmly, manipulating Harry's arms to cradle her properly."And if she starts crying you're not to try reasoning with her, just hand her to John."  
"What idiot would try reason with a crying baby?" Harry scoffed as Sherlock straightened up, not even taking a step back, hovering over them as though he was waiting to catch her if Harry dropped her on her head or something.

John frowned. It was going to be another long night.

A/n: D'aww. I do love writing Sherlock with a baby, he's so clueless but rational about it.


	4. The Past, The Present, The Katy Perry

The first real incident of the night came when Lestrade had jovially announced they ought to get a few beers in.  
"You know, wet the baby's head*!" John immediately remembered his promise to Sherlock, who was still on a knife edge every time someone else took hold of Jay (he was loitering in a corner, actually biting his nails with concern).  
"Ah... no." John shook his head. "Not a good idea."  
"Come on, it's tradition!" Harry chimed in.  
"I've got a bottle of sherry downstairs." Mrs Hudson added unhelpfully, stroking Jay's hair as Molly fed her (John had made a bottle up a short while ago). "I use it for my baking." She whispered to Molly. John shot Sherlock a help-me-out-here look, but he was too busy stressing over Molly's apparent ineptitude.

"I'll just pop to the corner shop and we'll get a crate in..." Lestrade said, shuffling into his coat.  
"Molly, for goodness sake tip the bottle upwards all you're doing is giving her a bottle full of air. She'll be sick." Sherlock said waspishly.  
"Sherlock - booze." John warned, nodding toward Lestrade who was heading toward the door already.  
"Fine fine, let them go." Sherlock waved his hand dismissively, still monitoring Molly and Jay. John sighed and allowed Greg to leave with Anderson, Harry scrambled to her feet and followed them out, chattering loudly about men's inability to pick decent wine.  
"You're supposed to be on the wagon, Harriet!" John called out after her, but she didn't respond. John just sighed.

When they did return, with enough alcohol to kill a small elephant, things got louder and busier. Lestrade ended up having one beer too many and falling asleep on the living room desk (after attempting to hit on Harry and failing miserably due to the fact that "Harry's y'know... a lesbian" - John, Molly had looked massively affronted by Lestrade's behaviour - again, John wondered). Sherlock's tense mood was lightened briefly when Jay, having had to much to drink herself and having been in Anderson's arms a whole ten seconds, decided to throw up all over his chest.  
"Oh she is definitely your kid." Anderson told Sherlock in disgust, handing Jay to her father while John fetched a towel to mop up.  
"Well, she certainly has good taste, I'll give her that." Sherlock agreed somewhat proudly as Anderson wrinkled his nose, wiping the milky baby sick off his jacket.

The night descended into madness from there on out, Harry got into a very one-sided argument with Molly who simply sat there wide eyed and got shouted at, Lestrade woke up yelling about the location of his gun and seemed very confused to realise he was still at the party, Mrs Hudson made everybody a cup of tea to sober up and Harry managed to somehow sneak vodka into hers (how she'd managed to get a hold of vodka when all they'd bought was wine and beer...). Mycroft watched the whole scene in mild amusement, occasionally glancing at Sherlock who was becoming more and more distressed. John cornered him by the fire place.

"You okay?" He queried in a whisper, not that he needed to whisper to avoid being heard, the room was a seething mass of over excited innebrieated voices.  
"It's just... a bit much." Sherlock muttered darkly, glancing at Anderson who was gossiping on the phone to Donovan.  
"Yeah... I know what you mean." John agreed, trying not to be furious with his sister for making another cutting remark at Molly who looked like she may burst into tears any second. Sherlock rubbed the bridge of his nose and clenched his eyes shut tightly. "Headache?" John asked knowingly, reaching up and touching the back of his hand to Sherlock's forehead to make sure there was no temperature.  
"Obviously." Sherlock said with a trade mark eye roll, not flinching at the rare skin-to-skin contact.  
"Go to bed, I'll bring you a couple of paracetamol in when everyone's gone." John instructed. Sherlock sighed begrudgingly, said a quick goodbye to the room in general and vanished into the bedroom.

One by one the guests trickled out (Mycroft ended up calling cars for Lestrade and Harry, who were apparently in no fit state to get home of their own accord). Molly gave John a hug and a kiss on each cheek before she left and John did his best to ignore the slight twinge of guilt that he had for being mad at her earlier for something that she'd not even been involved in. Mrs Hudson finally handed Jay back to John and tottered off downstairs for a herbal soother and then bed. In the end John was left standing in the living room with Jay in his arms and Mycroft, who appeared to have no intention of leaving just yet, propped up on a chair, surveying him with eagle eyed attention.

"How is he coping?" He asked in an oddly business like manner.  
"Uh... well actually yeah, really well." John admitted, he had no faults with how Sherlock was dealing with Jay for the most part. Mycroft's smile was oddly thin and all knowing. He produced a set of keys and an envelope from his pocket.  
"The keys to Ms MacDonald's apartment, and the address. The landlord would like her things moved out by the end of next week so it's up to you to sort out what you want to keep and what can go to charity." John nodded, he'd been expecting that. The keys had a small fob on them and a photo keyring of a blurry grey ultrasound picture. Jay. Jay long before John and Sherlock had known she existed.

John glanced at her, after a long day she was starting to fall asleep. It occured to John then that Mycroft had not held her - and he was family.  
"Would you like her for a bit?" John offered hesitantly.  
"I would not dream of touching her without Sherlock's express permission and I doubt he would allow it." Mycroft said smoothly.  
"Ah... it's just... you are his brother and technically her uncle so..." He trailed off, wondering how far the feud with the Holmes brothers stretched if Mycroft was forbidden to hold Sherlock's daughter. "Well, thanks for, you know... paying for the funeral and everything."

Mycroft gave a small nod, still watching John very carefully.  
"How is he with her?" He asked curiously.  
"Uh... good, yeah he's good with her - well, mostly. Occasionally he talks to her like she understands him... he calls her Jay when he talks _about _her but when he talks _to _her she tends to be called 'small person' which is a bit odd... but other than that, he's... good." This was an incredibly awkward conversation.  
"You're wondering why I encouraged this nonsensical endeavour." Mycroft observed neatly, reminding John that Sherlock was not the only Holmes who saw through people.  
"A bit, yeah." John admitted, settling down onto the sofa and leaning Jay against his chest. She gave a tiny yawn and her little fist gripped his shirt collar tightly.  
"This could be the making or breaking of Sherlock." Mycroft's tone was infamously cold. "She could be everything he needs or she could be what tips him over the edge. I approved of the adoption for the simple reason that he asked me to. I think he sees her as a way of making amends for his own past."

"His pa... oh. Yeah he mentioned that he'd been in care?" John suddenly remembered how dark and quiet Sherlock had gone when they mentioned the care system, his confession had registered in John's mind but he knew he was not supposed to ask Sherlock about it.  
"Briefly, yes." Mycroft nodded.  
"What happened?" John asked cautiously.  
"It is not my place to say." Mycroft said sternly, John had expected that much. "If you want answers, you'll have to discuss it with my brother. I will say that a lot of who he is today is down to what happened while he was in foster care - and it's the main reason he resents me so much, he thinks what went on there was my fault." Mycroft glanced at the ceiling then sighed. "I suppose in a way it was. So when he asked this favour of me I didn't feel I could refuse - he made it very clear that I owe him that much. He wants to atone for what he believes to be his sins and if raising a baby is how he intends to do so... far be it from me to deny him that."

John was quiet for a long moment, because he knew what it sounded like and he didn't like the thought of that one bit. Had Sherlock been abused by his foster carers? It would certainly make a lot of sense of his adult behaviour. He bowed his head and looked at Jay, now soundly asleep. Was that why Sherlock had been so adamant that Jay wasn't subjected to the same situation? Damn.

Mycroft began to gather his things.  
"I shall see you on Saturday for the funeral, Doctor Watson." He said as he got to his feet. He hovered by the arm of the sofa for a minute, peering at Jay with mild curiosity. "I know it's a physical impossibility... but she almost looks like him." He said vaguely. "I'll let myself out." And with that he was gone. John stared for far too long at Jay, her hair still very dark (though it was starting to look a dark brown rather than black, hard to tell at this age) and skin very pale due to never having really seen the sunlight. On a very basic level he supposed she did look a little like Sherlock, it all depended on what Jay senior looked like, John supposed.

John got himself up and grabbed the bottle of paracetamol, struggled to pour a glass of water with Jay in his arms, before taking Jay into Sherlock's bedroom. The detective was sat up in bed, shirtless and in his pyjama trousers, reading from a medical journal.  
"Everyone's gone home." John told him, placing the glass shakily on the bedside table, spilling a little. He lay Jay down in the crib and began tucking her in, aware of Sherlock's eyes on his back. "I'm going to nip round to Amy's flat tomorrow, make a start on clearing it all out. You can come if you want but it'll probably be uh..." John tried to think of the word Sherlock would use to describe it. "Tedious." Definitely.  
"I'll come along, need to figure out how to work the buggy anyway." Sherlock sipped at the water before tipping the paracetamol down his throat. John drew his eyes from the little girl in the cot and glanced hesitantly at Sherlock.

John knew there were many different kinds of abuse, all of them equally debilitating in their own way. Sitting there, shirtless, John could see the old marks on his arms from drug abuse and got a brief glance of one large scar along Sherlock's back, a thin white line that looked as though he'd been whipped. John wondered whether Sherlock had been beaten whilst in care, if he'd been insulted or called names or made to feel like he was worthless. He wondered how old Sherlock had been, was he young enough to believe it? Old enough to know better? Then he wondered some more, had Sherlock ever been touched inappropriately, raped even? Did that explain why he was so cold and emotionally distant with people?

"John, you're staring." Sherlock told him drily and John blinked and looked away.  
"Yeah uh... goodnight then." He mumbled.  
"Goodnight." Sherlock said bluntly, evidently working out that John had been pondering the origins of his scar - well, the one that he could see, and disliking the conclusions John was drawing. John slipped quietly from the room, ashamed that he'd been caught staring, but more concerned about Sherlock than he'd ever been.

-

John was grateful to learn that Amy had lived on the bottom floor, it had been hard enough trying to get the pram out of 221b unfolded, then putting it together on the doorstep. The flat itself was tiny, there was evidence of where Mycroft's men had been in and extracted the essentials, such as the tiny indents in the bedroom floor when the cot had been, and open cupboards now empty of baby wipes and nappies. John began to shift through certain things, setting Amy's clothes to one side for charity, extra baby clothes were on another pile to take home.

"How many outfits could a child possibly need?" Sherlock wondered aloud.  
"A lot. Plus you don't _really _know how big a baby's going to be - you get a vague idea but a pound or two can really affect the clothes... she'd prepared the first three sizes, plus a few nicer things for when she's a little bigger. All gender neutral though." John noted. There were no pretty pink dresses or tiny football kits, all baby grows in various shades of yellow, green, purple and cream.  
"Do we keep sentimental items?" Sherlock asked curiously, fingering a photo frame on the mantel.  
"Yeah... Jay's going to be able to talk one day and she's going to have questions about her parents so... photographs, valentine's cards, whatever should be kept. We can put them in a box in the loft until she's old enough to ask." John mumbled, still fiddling with two tiny pairs of socks. Sherlock was silent for a little while, Jay was in the pram in the corridor while they were looking through things.

John was just collecting all Jay's scan photos and the 'baby's firsts' book when Sherlock made a revalation.  
"I thought you said you didn't know Amy's husband..." He asked. John didn't look up.  
"Nope. Not in my regiment."  
"You must be mistaken - you're in this photograph." Sherlock handed John a picture and he froze. It was of his squad, and sure enough he was stood next to, his arm thrown around a young man with an inked red heart around his head.  
"Oh god." John gasped, feeling his stomach turn and his knees go weak. "Mack! I didn't even think... we didn't call him Jay... he was just Mack... Must have been short for MacDonald and I never registered it... Oh I'm an idiot." John stared at the photograph forlornly. Mack had died long after John had already come home. He had stories about Mack, when Amy had asked him if he knew him they could have shared jokes about him, swapped tales. John shook his head softly. He could have comforted Amy in her dying moments with the truth - that Mack had been a brilliant man and a talented soldier. A bit dozy, a bit daft, tall and thin he'd always looked like a teenager going through a growth sput but he was very well loved and always so sweet and kind.

John's chest throbbed and he just looked hopelessly at the picture in his hand.  
"You're... not okay?" Sherlock observed cautiously.  
"It's just... weird is all. I knew Mack, he was a nice bloke... I knew he had a fiancee - she was his fiancee then, I'd come home before they got married. I never though I'd be raising their child... he was a brave man, forever getting himself into trouble though." John murmured with a sigh. Sherlock reached out and his hand hovered over John's shoulder, wanting to offer him some form of comfort, but he couldn't bring himself to just embrace the man. Jay took her cue well and burst into tears. John set down the photograph hurriedly and went to see to her, thankful for the escape route.

He spent far too long faffing around with her, so when he came back into the room with her against his chest, Sherlock had already packed away the photographs that were causing so much trouble - another of those things that John and Sherlock just weren't allowed to talk about. John walked Jay around the flat a few times, feeling oddly emotional at the fact this was the closest Jay would ever get to knowing her parents, and it was all going into boxes. He silently promised her that it would be okay, and pleaded with the universe that he'd be able to keep that promise.

The funeral was even more draining - and heartbreakingly low attended. A few of Mack's army friends showed up, recognised John and patted him reassuringly on the back, Molly and Mrs Hudson came to show their respects but nobody talked much to each other. John gave the eulogy, but it was packed with lies - he felt like a fraud, speaking of their friendship that hadn't existed, the only thing that brought any colour to the day was Jay, Amy had no black clothes prepared for her, but lemon and cream seemed inappropriately sunny for a funeral, John had hastily bought her a little blue playsuit because blue seemed appropriate for grief without imposing mourning on an innocent child. An innocent child who, almost knowingly, howled throughout the entire service.

Amy was buried in the same plot as her husband, whose grave was recently adorned with a Union Jack flag from the boys, but looked predominantly uncared for. John stood by the grave longer than anybody else, staring at the white stone adored with dates too close together for his liking. Molly came, squeezed John's hand and left again. It began to rain but John was rooted to the spot, just staring at the grave stone, wanting answers. Sherlock appeared by his side, looking the part in a charcoal grey suit and jet black silk shirt - for once he was even wearing a tie, white. He'd left Jay with Mrs Hudson.  
"You'll catch a cold." He warned.  
"Mmm." John murmured, to himself mostly. Sherlock removed the white flower from his lapel and threw it gracefully onto the grave, it clung to the mud, the rain beginning to batter it immediately.  
"Come inside?" Sherlock suggested.  
"Not yet." John said resolutely.

Sherlock hesitated, the look of grief was one he was well accustomed to in his line of work, but seeing John's face lined with loss was completely new. Sherlock glanced at the grave and saw only a white marble plinth - John saw Amy's body, he saw his comrade's lifeless eyes, John saw lives that had ended too early, he saw everything that had ever been and everything that never would be. Sherlock wondered how he coped with all that, it seemed too much for one person to feel all at once, but the hollowness in his eyes showed it all.  
"You're amazing, do you know that?" Sherlock offered. John still did not move. "You barely knew this woman, and yet you grieve for her. You are capable of so much more empathy than most..." He mused. "The man was a friend, a companion - I could understand that kind of loss. Yet... you're sad for more than him, you're sad for him... for his wife... for their daughter. That kind of emotion is... daunting." He admitted, not looking at John, looking at the grave and trying, in vain, to see what John saw.

"I pity you for the hurt you must feel, but at the same time I am impressed that you _can _feel that much. You are... a rather fantastic human being, John Watson." He said softly, John knew how rare it was for Sherlock to give compliments, even rarer for him to offer them when he was not trying to apologise for something he'd done wrong.

John began to feel the rain then, dripping from his hair, soaking through his suit - the one he only ever wore for weddings or funerals. He'd not really been aware of the deluge until that point. Sherlock stood very still, not sure whether he was intruding on John's grief or helping soothe it. It was just getting to the point where Sherlock thought he ought to go, to leave John to mourn in his own way when John reached over and took Sherlock's hand. Sherlock nodded in semi-understanding - John had to cry right now, but he did not have to cry alone.

Sherlock squeezed his friend's hand softly, and waited until the soldier felt strong enough, embued by Sherlock's presence, to stand straight and perform a military salute to the stone. John and Sherlock walked back to the church hand in hand, only letting go when someone handed Jay to John, now dry eyed and standing tall once more.

He drank that night, when he got home. Sherlock let him, quietly dealing with Jay on his own while John silently drank himself into a stupor. When he awoke the next morning, he was asleep on the sofa with a blanket over him that Sherlock must have given him and a headache that he'd only himself to blame for. He dragged himself to his feet and started breakfast, making some for Sherlock whether he wanted it or not.  
"She's still asleep." Sherlock said, appearing at John's side after being awoken by the smell of bacon.  
"Don't sneak up on me while I'm cooking, it's a good way to get a frying pan to the face." John muttered.  
"Hungover?" Sherlock queried, observing the half-hearted threat for what it was.  
"Yeah... sorry."  
"Is it out of your system now?" He questioned, filling the kettle, John knew he wasn't talking about the alcohol.  
"Think so..." John flipped the bacon which was beginning to turn brown and crispy the way he prefered it, but he was cooking Sherlock's share too and Sherlock liked his barely done. Awkward man.

"Thanks... for yesterday." John mumbled, starting to plate up scrambled eggs.  
"I didn't do anything." Sherlock said earnestly.  
"You did." John said, and the subject was closed. They ate their breakfast (well, John ate, Sherlock picked it apart and examined bits of it). Jay at least had the common decency to wait until John had finished eating to wake up, hungry for her own breakfast. Sherlock made to get up but John ushered him back to his seat and began making up a bottle, the detective just shrugged - continuing to dissect his eggs with keen interest, as he had no real experiments he could do.

The next couple of days and weeks were spent trying to establish a routine for Jay, working out when she needed to be fed and changed and when she was grouchy because she needed sleep as opposed to being grouchy for the sake of being grouchy. The upside of getting Jay into a routine was that for the first time since John had moved in with him - Sherlock began to develop a routine, scheduling sleeping hours around Jay and eating at semi-regular intervals. John was quite impressed, Sherlock never modified his behaviour for anybody.

"You know I'm going back to work tomorrow." John voiced, not for the first time. He was pacing as he cradled a sleepy Jay. For the past week he'd been mentioning it, but every time he did Sherlock suddenly busied himself with changing a nappy or calling Lestrade. John was fairly certain that Sherlock was concerned about being left alone with her but then again he might just be an awkward sulky git, hard to tell with Sherlock.  
"Mmhmm." Sherlock murmured vaguely as John wandered into the kitchen, still lulling Jay.  
"Why have you dismantled her mobile?" He asked exasperatedly, eyeing the bits and pieces of what had been a rather ironic model of the solar system that had previously lived above Jay's crib.  
"I'm modifying it." Came the answer, as though it was obvious. John sighed.  
"Of course you are." He stroked Jay's hair, she was almost out but not completely, big blue eyes fighting to stay open.

"It only spins clockwise," Sherlock explained, absently tossing the small light up orb that was supposed to represent Venus. "I want it to alternate, so she doesn't get bored." Sherlock had a funny idea of what interested babies but John had to admit this one was a bit cute. "It will also stimulate the sensory part of her brain more if it changed to counter clockwise on every 20th turn."  
"Right..." John couldn't keep the smirk from his face. Sherlock sighed heavily.  
"You disapprove?"  
"No. No, I approve. Just put it back together when you're done." He instructed as Jay began to whimper softly.  
"She's almost in a complete routine now, that's almost 4 weeks ahead of what the baby book says..." He observed.  
"Great, we've got another genius in the house." John spoke playfully, Sherlock stood up.  
"Hand her over. You go make tea." He ordered, extending his arms. John had got used to Sherlock's occasional demands for her attention, so didn't hesitate to slowly offload their daughter into his arms.

As John set about with the kettle he overheard  
"Okay small person, you're obviously tired and it's... 12 minutes past your average nap time." In Sherlock's typical no-nonsense tone, as he tried to rationalise with an infant. By the time John arrived with the tea she was determinedly trying to raise her little head, something she'd not quite got the hang of yet. John set the tea down on the table.  
"Are you going to be okay with me going back to work?" He asked cautiously as Sherlock circled the room, rubbing Jay's back.  
"I... honestly don't know." Sherlock said coolly. "Would you trust me alone with a child?"  
"Yes." John didn't hesitate to answer. "And Mrs Hudson's usually just downstairs if you do need her, and I'm just a phone call away." Sherlock did not look happy, but shrugged dismissively. Jay gave another pitiful cry.

"I'll hold her, you play?" John offered, nodding towards the violin Sherlock had abandoned earlier than morning after getting the urge to modify her mobile.  
"She doesn't like it when I play. I tried it the other night while you were asleep - it only succeeded in her crying louder to try drown it out. Perhaps she's a bit young to appreciate classical..." He wondered. Jay's occasional pathetic sobs were now a steady litany of whimpers.  
"Maybe... she liked the radio the other morning." John said leaning over and pressing a button on the stereo. It crackled into life with the sort of whiny pop music Sherlock despised but after only a few minutes Jay seemed to soothe and calm down.

"How on earth did _we_ end up with a daughter who will only be silent when exposed to the incessant screeching of one Katy Perry?" Sherlock asked distastefully. John chuckled as Sherlock lay her in her carry cot, sitting down next to John on the sofa and taking his tea without a thank you.  
"You _do_ realise she's not biologically ours?" He teased, Sherlock's ears turned slightly pink, of course he knew that. "Anyway, more to the point how do _you_ know who Katy Perry is?"  
"There was a complicated trangender murder case a couple of years ago apparently entirely dependent on the lyrics of '_One of the boys_'." Sherlock shuddered in disapproval.  
"You'll be fine tomorrow, you know." John put forward, watching intently as Sherlock sipped at his tea but never took his eyes from Jay.  
"Perhaps. I have an activity planned." He confirmed.

"Nothing dangerous, you promised." John reminded him. Sherlock scowled.  
"I know what I promised and no it's not 'dangerous'... though I fail to see how the mould cultures you confiscated are 'dangerous'." He added. John had lectured him for hours about asthma and health and safety after that one. "No it's a basic developmental exercise the baby book recommended." John was beginning to wish Molly hadn't bought Sherlock a baby developmental guide, Sherlock seemed to quote it as gospel 99% of the time.  
"Which is?"  
"Call and response. She's three weeks old now, she's starting to have a grasp on language and whereas her body forbids her from actually forming words she's been cooing and gurgling a lot as of late, her own primitive attempt at communication. The aim of the activity is to copy the noises she makes - showing her that she is making herself understood. It's meant to encourage bonding and psychological development. Eventually she should progress to the point where she can mimic noises too. Only simple ones, mind. The book recommends 'b-b-b' and 'm-m-m' as they require less..."  
"You're a brilliant father." John blurted. He didn't mean to, and he'd cut Sherlock off in his stride. Sherlock looked very startled.

"What?" Sherlock asked, stunned.  
"You are. I know you worry and I know you think you're not, and I know you're really going to panic over tomorrow, but you're good with her. You really are." Sherlock actually looked too surprised to speak, John only smiled at him. Sherlock bowed his head, with his brow furrowed. He was not used to compliments, they only ever really came from John.  
"Well... I guess we'll see tomorrow." He mumbled awkwardly.

John made sure to get up early the next morning, Sherlock was at the kitchen table fiddling with the remnants of Jay's mobile.  
"Morning... where's Blue Jay?"  
"I wish you wouldn't call her that." Sherlock grumbled, prodding at an LED with his screwdriver (well, John's screwdriver).  
"It's cute, anyway it's better than 'Small person'." John countered.  
"She _is _a small person, she's not a decorative bird with ostentatious plumage." Sherlock argued, losing his temper and throwing Mars against the wall with a loud crash. John jumped , startled at the noise, as did Jay who was in her car seat in front of the washing machine. She began to howl powerfully.

"Sherlock!" John scolded, hurrying over to her. "I know I keep telling you she's too young to understand but this sort of stuff rubs off on them, you can't throw things or shoot things or shout the odds anymore." He snapped. Sherlock looked alarmed.  
"Well, I guess I'm not such a brilliant father after all." He growled darkly.  
"Oh come off it! You know I didn't mean it like that." John grumbled, running his fingers over Jay's face as she wailed. Sherlock frowned and glanced at the mobile.

"It's broken." The detective said, somewhat forlornly.  
"Well if it wasn't before, it is now." John sighed, unstrapping Jay hurriedly. "Why was she on the kitchen floor?" He asked, not sure he really wanted to know the answer.  
"The white noise from the washing machine calms her down, and it's a colour wash so she had sensory stimulation." Sherlock explained. "My mother used to do it when I was a baby. It's certainlybetter than _Cbeebies_." He mumbled, staring at the red shards of plastic. John sighed heavily.  
"Look, there's a toy shop not too far from the clinic, I'll buy her a new mobile on the way home from work okay... one that rotates both ways." He promised.  
"Take my card." John opened his mouth to protest. "I broke it, I'll buy the new one. Take my card." He insisted. John frowned and nodded, looking at Sherlock with apprehensive eyes.

"Maybe we should leave her with Mrs Hudson for the day..." Sherlock said softly. John crossed the small kitchen and placed the hand that was not cradling Jay on Sherlock's shoulder, Sherlock flinched at the touch.  
"You'll be fine, Sherlock." John swore. Sherlock did not look convinced.

A/n: *Wet the baby's head. I don't know if you use that expression wherever you are dear reader, but I'm Irish and we use it a lot - it's basically an excuse to drink, when someone's just had a baby.


	5. The Thin White Line

Despite his promises, John spent the whole day worrying and checking his phone between patients. Sarah seemed overly concerned about him on his lunch break, but he brushed her off with an 'I'm fine. It's all fine, honestly.' Though, contrary to his claims, he nearly had a heart attack when he got a text 10 minutes before the end of his shift. He nearly threw Mrs Blakeley's prescription at her, ushering her out of the office to check his phone.  
'_Greg_' John's heart raced, worried that police were involved. Then he read the message  
"**To what extent is Sherlock not allowed to participate in murder investigations? We've got a doozy here, could really use his help**..." John sat down, he controlled his breathing before texting back.  
"**Don't bring him to the scene, you can text him pics + bring the crime report round**." He sighed in relief. One more patient then he could go home.

He was half way down the block when he remembered he'd promised to swing by the toy store, he had to back track a street or two and turn left. He groaned as he turned the corner and realised the street was cordoned off, then he saw a familiar face.  
"Sally? What's happened?" He asked, summoning Sargent Sally Donovan, clad in her fluorescent uniform.  
"Murder, nasty one too." She told him, lifting the police tape to let him through. "The freak's not with you? Lestrade said he'd text him..."  
"No." He said curtly, deciding to ignore the insult. "He's at home with Jay... any clue who the victim was?" He asked as Sally led him through the street, crawling with forensics. He spotted Anderson and gave him a civil nod.  
"Jay? Oh, the baby. It's true then? You and him..." Sally seemed genuinely intrigued.  
"Yeah." John agreed absently. "Victim?" He repeated.

"You're a brave man, Watson." She said shaking her head. "Victim's the keeper of the toy shop, had his throat slit then he was strung up from the shop ceiling." She said disgustedly, waving them through the two guards at the door and in to the shop where sure enough a man of about 60 was 'strung up' like Sally had said, and the first word that came to John's mind was 'puppet', his dead arms and legs posed artistically like a marionette. John would have winced, but he'd become more than used to grizzly murders.

Sally started a sneezing fit almost the moment they entered the shop.  
"Ugh, sorry." She gestured vaguely at a vase full of aster daisies on the shop counter. "Bloody hay-fever."  
"Any ideas?" He asked Greg who was standing in the corner with his hand over his mouth as though he may gag.  
"Haven't the foggiest, by all accounts he was a much loved, slightly eccentric shopkeeper with no enemies to speak of." He sighed heavily. "Has to be a grudge though, doesn't it?"  
"Dunno..." John would be inclined to agree but he knew that if Sherlock were here he'd be spitting mad, yelling that they can't theorize without evidence.

"What are you even doing here?" Greg asked suddenly, as though he'd just realised John was in the room.  
"Uh... I was supposed to be buying Blue Jay a new mobile." He said distractedly, fairly certain the dead man was staring at him with hollow eyes.  
"What happened to her old mobile?" Greg queried.  
"Er... Sherlock sort of... modified it." John admitted, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. Sally let out a barking laugh amidst her sneezes.  
"Oh god, he didn't add eyeballs to it or something weird?" She teased, sniffling a little. John bristled defensively.

"No, he was trying to improve it for her benefit actually." He said shortly. Sally looked surprised.  
"Oh... no I didn't mean..." Before she could properly apologise she let out a loud "ACHOO!"  
"I know what you meant," John cut in sternly. She had the good grace to look sheepish, even she knew it was bad form to insult someone's other half (in front of them). "He's good with her, okay." Sally went quiet, wiping her eyes which were stinging from pollen - the flowers must be fresh. "Greg can you drop the report off later tonight, I'm sure Sherlock'll love this one. Just... no chasing armed criminals down dark alleys, okay?" He said awkwardly, taking off before he could bite Sally's head off.  
"That was bang out of order," Greg murmured at her, in a vague attempt at discipline.  
"I know... " She agreed apologetically. "Just... John and Sherlock with a _baby _it's so... weird, ah... achoo!"

John practically ran home, phantom pains in his leg aside, he was in a rush. He darted into 221b, raced up the stairs and fumbled with his key in the lock. The living room was empty as was the kitchen.  
"Sherlock?" He called uncertainly, rewarded only with silence. It was only as he burst into Sherlock's bedroom to see Jay awake in her cot and Sherlock sleeping on the bed on his stomach, face turned toward the door that the realisation hit John: He'd not just been desperate to see that Jay was okay, he'd been eager to get home to make sure Sherlock was too. He heaved another sigh of relief and approached the cot. Jay was wide awake, bright blue eyes wide and expectant. John dangled his fingers into the crib, wriggling them just over Jay's nose. He looked at Sherlock, who was clad only in his pyjama bottoms.

Given that he was shirtless, John could now see the scar he'd only glimpsed the other night, a long thin white line across Sherlock's back. He wondered how he'd not noticed it at Buckingham Palace, though he supposed his mind had been on other things. John surveyed it with the eyes of a doctor, up close it definitely looked like a whip mark, it was perfectly straight, milk white and not raised above Sherlock's skin. He removed his hand from the cot and knelt beside Sherlock's bed, gaze sweeping the detective's upper body for any more signs of abuse. He nearly missed it. Low on his hip, lower than the sheet had fallen in the Palace, just peeking over the hemline of his trousers was an angry pink mark that obviously crept lower, from what John could see it appeared to be a burn, the skin discoloured and slightly bubbled.

John was just starting to feel seriously sorry for him when Sherlock opened his eyes blearily.  
"Wasn't asleep." He murmured drowsily. John realised that in crouching so close, their faces were very close together, Sherlock seemed to realise this too, raising one eyebrow.  
"It's fine." John said, jumping up and away from Sherlock. "Just... came in to check on you when I got home. Lestrade's text you." He said very quickly, turning his attention back to Jay, wrapping his hands around her tiny torso as he lifted her out of her bed. He tried not to pay attention to the fact his cheeks were turning red.  
"Has he?" Sherlock yawned, sitting up slowly, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah, murder. Told him you'd be okay to look at the photos and case report later?" John explained, going for the nappy bag at the foot of Jay's cot.  
"I thought I wasn't allowed..." Sherlock started, unsure whether he was being tested or not.  
"Sherlock, I'm not going to make you quit your job, you're good at it for one and it keeps you... entertained I guess... you just have to use your judgement. Be safe. No diving on nutters with knives, or chasing psychos half wayround London - okay?" John pressed, laying out Jay's changing mat and sinking to his knees.  
"So I'm only allowed to take cases where my physical safety is not compromised?" Sherlock queried, shrugging on his blue dressing gown, hiding his scars - he did not seem bothered by the fact John had seen them, but he was obviously aware of it - he always knew whatever John was thinking. Sherlock knelt at the head of Jay's changing mat, distracting her with the belt of his dressing down, running the soft fabric over her eyes and nose. She cooed contentedly in response.

"Yes... or the physical safety of me or Jay actually. How'd the teaching activity go?" John asked, more than used to changing dirty nappies by then, Sherlock did pull his weight and changed his fair share, but honestly - young babies were apparently just poop machines.

"She's able to hold her own version of a conversation, when she chooses." Sherlock explained. Jay struggled to lift her head towards the belt, Sherlock's hand dipped down, cupping the back of her skull to make sure she didn't injure herself. "Try it yourself. Next time she makes a noise, mimic it. She's a very fast learner." John smiled.  
"Trust you to raise a genius." He chuckled softly.  
"It's a little early to tell if she's a genius." Sherlock chided, using his free hand to check his mobile phone. "The shop keeper you were going to visit?" He queried, mildly surprised. John nodded.  
"Yeah, bad timing. Didn't manage to get her a new mobile, I'll have to go further afield." Sherlock's brow was furrowed as he flicked through his texts.  
"I'll need your laptop shortly, to view the photographs properly."  
"Since when did you ask to borrow my laptop?" John teased, lifting Jay's legs. Sherlock shrugged offhandedly.

"Interesting body positioning." Sherlock mumbled. "Almost ritualistic..."  
"Looked like a puppet to me.." John said, feeling a shiver run down his spine. "Can we not discuss murder over the changing mat, please?" He added. Sherlock rolled his eyes, it was always John telling him that Jay didn't understand what was being said but he ignored it and continued flicking through his mobile, perusing the too small photographs of a dead man just above his daughter's head. The belt of the dressing gown had been largely forgotten and dangled too close to her mouth, she clamped her lips down over it and sucked on the end. John grinned.

"Blue Jay that can't be too tasty..." John paused. "There's no chemicals or anything on there is there?"  
"Hm, no." Sherlock said distractedly, freeing the material from Jay's mouth. She gave a distinct  
"Ah!" noise.  
"Ah." Sherlock copied, as though agreeing with her, without taking his eyes from the screen. John thought it was odd to hear Sherlock, composed, articulate and clever, making baby noises.  
"Eh." She replied. Sherlock leaned down, ruffled her hair and then stood up.  
"Eh indeed, I need to go phone Lestrade." He announced, wandering from the room, glued to his phone.

John sighed and buttoned Jay's lemon yellow baby grow back up.  
"You'll soon get used to your father doing that - wandering off to work." He told her, leaning over and pinning her little hands down, pressing his nose to hers. "He'll be out of action, or well... in action, for the next 24 hours at least, so it's probably going to be just you and me tonight, okay?" He said. She looked right through him, evidently without a clue what he was on about. He smiled softly. Being away from her at work today, he'd realised just how much he did care for this little girl who'd somehow worked her way into their lives. He'd been attached to her since they brought her home, he liked her - nobody could dislike a newborn baby who was entirely dependent on them, but today had proven to John for the first time that he was in fact a father and he did actually love the 'small person', as Sherlock called her. He kissed her lightly on the nose before pulling back and packing the baby bag.

John was wrong, however, about Sherlock's being **fully** focused on the work for the next 24 hours. For the next few hours he _was_ completely absorbed with it, on the laptop sending emails at lightning speed, on the phone with Lestrade, printing out gruesome photographs and laying them out on the table. John busied himself with Jay, he knew not to disturb Sherlock when he was working. He was feeding Jay when the door went.  
"That'll be Lestrade." Sherlock mumbled, pen darting across a loose leaf of paper as he took notes.  
"It's not locked!" John called and the door swung open to reveal Greg with a file in his hand.  
"You housekeeper let me in, you lot alright?"  
"She's not our housekeeper." John said habitually.

"Unimportant. Did you bring the customer list?" Sherlock demanded as John waved Greg into the room. He crossed the room and sat beside Sherlock on the sofa, John was on the arm chair trying to coax the bottle teet between Jay's lips - she was being stubborn and refusing the bottle.  
"Yeah I did, you really think it was a customer? Only - the people who buy children toys aren't generally the sort of people who murder a bloke and hang him from his shop ceiling." He put forward.  
"I'm not ruling it out." Sherlock grunted.

"Would you please eat something?" John pleaded.  
"I'm not hungry right now." Sherlock snapped waspishly.  
"Not you, her." John sighed. Greg dragged his eyes from the photographs Sherlock was surveying and turned his attention to Jay.  
"Well hello, gorgeous." He said brightly. "Can Uncle Greg have a cuddle?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, this child had acquired far more 'aunties' and 'uncles' than John and Sherlock had siblings. Uncle Greg and Aunty Molly were not relatives, Sherlock thought it more than a little ridiculous.  
"Yeah, see if you can get her to eat." John did not hesitate to pass her over, bottle and all. Greg took her happily, settling her on his lap and trying to convince her that her bottle was good for her by cooing in baby-talk at her. John had to admit the next twenty minutes or so were odd, sitting about waiting for Sherlock to sift through facts in his head was really par the course, sitting about waiting for Sherlock to sift through facts in his head, with a small baby between them was not. It was strange how Jay had sort of seeped into their every day lives.

Eventually Sherlock sighed.  
"I have no clue, I'll take another look in the morning when I've had a few hours sleep, maybe run some tests on the ropes used to tie him up." He said. Both Greg and John stopped and stared, slack jawed as Sherlock folded the evidence file away.  
"You're... actually taking a break?" Greg asked incredulously.  
"The man is dead, he can wait a few more hours and you are utterly incompetent when it comes to feeding my daughter so hand her over." Sherlock bristled. John felt an odd swell of pride, he knew that part of this was for show, that as soon as Greg left he'd peruse the case file again, but he also had the feeling part of it was brutally honest. Sherlock obviously didn't like other people being in charge of Jay. He wanted to feed her. Greg passed her to Sherlock carefully, she took the bottle almost immediately from him.  
"Awkward creature." John said affectionately.  
"Me or her?" Sherlock smirked. John rolled his eyes.  
"Oh get a room you two." Laughed Greg, standing up. John felt his ears burn slightly as he realised Greg had thought they were flirting. He hadn't meant it like that, and Sherlock almost certainly hadn't.

"I'd best be off, text me if you figure anything out, and I'll have some rope samples sent over in the morning, yeah?" Sherlock glanced at John apprehensively. No dangerous experiments was the rule. John shrugged, he couldn't see how analysing a rope could be too harmful.  
"Yes. That would be appreciated." Sherlock said curtly. "As would a cup of coffee." He told John, then he paused, glanced at Greg then back at John. "Please." He added slightly exasperatedly - but sounding at least a little genuine. Greg grinned, a pure, warm smile from deep within. He patted John on the shoulder before he left.

The air felt strangely heavy, the tension was too thick. John tried to crack a joke.  
"If I'd known adopting a child together was all it took for you to show me gratitude we should have done it ages ago." Sherlock furrowed his brow, staring at John quite intensely.  
"I am grateful. You knew that." He said firmly, without an inflection - it was not a question. John nodded awkwardly.  
"Yeah I guess... uh, coffee right." He mumbled embarrassedly, before darting off into the kitchen to set about making a coffee, black, two sugars - as always when Sherlock was on a case.

John was right on this one though, he often was when it came to predicting Sherlock's behaviour, Jay had barely finished her bottle and Sherlock was flicking through the case file again, bobbing Jay on one knee with her head against his chest. John fought back a smile, realising Jay had succeeded where others had not, she came before the work in Sherlock's eyes - only just, but she did.

-

John ended up going to a Mothercare store in Central London the following Thursday after work. He picked up a new mobile (one that rotated both ways, hopefully Sherlock wouldn't see a reason to dismantle this one) with stars and moons on it - it was not scientifically correct but with Sherlock's knowledge of the Solar System it probably wouldn't matter. He was examining some baby monitors when a pram bumped into his leg.  
"Sorry!" A woman said apologetically, pulling the buggy back a bit. "It's got a dodgy wheel." She said, embarrassed. John looked up at her, she was fairly short with dark brown curls and thick rimmed glasses. There was a boy of about 18 months old in the push chair.  
"Not a problem, ours veers to the left." He chuckled.  
"Hiya!" The little boy said cheerily. John smiled at him.  
"Hiya." He said back, mimicking like Sherlock had taught him to do with Jay. The woman shifted past him slightly, to look at some of the sensory toys next to the monitors John had been viewing. John turned back and was reading the battery instructions when something hit him in the small of his back.

He span around to see the young boy with his arm poised in the air, and a dummy on the floor by his feet.  
"Ah, excuse me Miss." John picked it up and as she turned to him he handed it back to her.  
"Oh for... sorry, he's always doing it." She sighed long-sufferingly and put it in the hood of the pram, searching through her bag for a clean one.  
"I was thinking about starting my little girl on a dummy but there's a mixed opinion on them." John said conversationally as the woman bent down and popped another dummy in her son's mouth.  
"Joey wouldn't be without his. You wouldn't know it for all he chucks them about but he cries if he can't have one... though he is getting a bit old for one. I'm Alice, by the way." She introduced herself.  
"John." He offered his hand and she shook it warmly. Joe looked up at them in fascination.

"How old's your girl?" Alice asked warmly.  
"She's about a month old now."  
"Oh then I'd definitely start her on one, it reduces the risk of cot-death and shuts them up if they get a bit uppity, always helped Joey sleep through the night... it can cause issues with breast-feeding though."  
"Ah, she's bottle-fed." John paused before adding awkwardly. "Her mother's not exactly around any more." Alice suddenly looked quite sympathetic.  
"Oh? Well the only thing I noticed health wise was that he was a bit more prone to ear-infections, but the occasional ear-infection's preferable to constantly being woken in the night." She smiled kindly.

"If you ask the leader of your baby group they'll give you the proper pros and cons." She prompted.  
"Ah... don't attend a baby group. I don't really know many other parents actually..." John admitted, placing the monitors in his basket, it would do good to have an extra pair of ears around the house in case Sherlock withdrew completely for whatever reason. The only other parent John really knew of was the woman across the street who had a newborn daughter - and he only ever really saw her in passing.  
"They run a parent-baby group every Sunday morning at the nursery on Sage Street, for newborns to three year olds, you should pop in and join us some time." She offered. John smiled flirtatiously at her.  
"Sounds good... I'll see you there, Alice." After she left the store, John bought the mobile, the monitors and a pack of cheap dummies.

Sherlock was much less keen on the idea of a pacifier.  
"Doesn't it give them buck teeth? And stop them feeding? She's a fussy eater as it is, we don't want to discourage her further. Why are they all blue? Are we trying not to resign her to gender stereotypes?" He ranted, he had approved of the baby monitors as an additional purchase, but the dummies appeared to be causing him great consternation.  
"Well she doesn't have any teeth yet, I'm not sure about the feeding thing but I thought we could try it and see." John explained. "And the only reason they're blue is that the store was out of pink ones, there's no deep psychological reasoning behind it." He shrugged. "Anyway, blue suits her." It did, he honestly had to say, her dark hair and bright blue eyes were always drawing attention when offset with a blue outfit. John had been consciously buying them for a while. He didn't call her Blue Jay for nothing.

He decided not to mention the baby group until he'd done a little research, googling it on his laptop. It was an open group he didn't need to register and would be able to just show up, three pounds a session - paid on the dayand that included a cuppa and biscuits for the parents if they wanted one.  
"I know it's not really your thing..." He started uncertainly. "But they run a baby and toddler group on Sundays, not too far from here..."  
"A room full of gossipy mothers and screaming infants? Pass." Sherlock said dismissively, eyeing a few profiles on some of the shopkeeper's customers - he could find no reason that any of them would have murdered the victim. Jay had been unceremoniously plonked in front of the washing machine as Sherlock had been right, the noise soothed her. She was not asleep but she seemed quite content to sit there in her car-seat, watching the clothes go round. John swore their laundry had doubled since she arrived.

"Well yes, but I was thinking I could take her. It's only for a few hours a week and it'd give her a chance to meet other kids and socialize a bit..." John glanced at Sherlock, who appeared to be barely listening, deceptive though - Sherlock always listened, and he always heard more than was said. "Plus it'd give you a few baby-free hours to get some work done..."  
"My work is not hindered by her presence, it's hindered by the lack of suspects and/or motive..." He grumbled in annoyance.  
"You could go down to the Yard, see the evidence for yourself... he's not been cremated yet, Molly might let you look at the body rather than just the photos..." John offered, knowing just how to tempt the detective. Sherlock had been in a bad mood for days over this case, complaining about second hand evidence and Scotland Yard's 'sheer incompetence!' Sherlock frowned, abandoning the table full of profiles, he went and picked Jay up.

"I suppose if I can trust anybody with her sole care for a few hours, it's going to be you." He sighed, bringing her through to join them. She clutched at the lapel of Sherlock's jacket as he sat down.  
"You're really protective over her, aren't you?" John smiled affectionately, leaning closer to Sherlock and Jay, he placed one finger on her nose and said "Beep!" She jolted slightly in surprise and John thought he saw an attempt at a smile.  
"Aren't parents supposed to be?" Sherlock asked.  
"It's not a bad thing, Sherlock. It's... cute." John told him, Sherlock quirked an eyebrow in response, he'd been called many things in his life but 'cute' was not one of them. Sherlock sighed again, in resignation.  
"Fine." He said decisively. He turned Jay to face him and looked her in the eye. "Small person, you're to work on your social skills at this group on Sunday," She pulled a face, she was getting quite good at that lately, screwing up her tiny little features. "I know, I don't see the point either but apparently Daddy knows best." He spoke so seriously that John nearly forgot to ask.

"Oh yeah, about that. What is she going to call us, when she learns to speak?" He questioned.  
"Assuming she progresses at the standard rate she'll likely just call us both 'dada' or 'mama' as it's a simple syllable..." Sherlock started, quoting from the baby book again.  
"I meant to differentiate. When she's a little older. We can't both be 'Daddy' she'll get confused." Sherlock paused, as though he hadn't really given it much though.  
"I'd assume you're 'Daddy' and I'm..." Sherlock trailed off, frowning. Uncertain. He didn't know what he was.  
"Father?" John suggested.  
"Too austere." He dismissed.  
"Papa?"  
"Ugh, too European." Sherlock wrinkled his nose in disgust. John had to think for a moment.  
"Dad?" Sherlock paused, he did not push this suggestion aside as quickly as the others, instead furrowing his brow and looking for all the world like he was stuck on a Sudoku puzzle (not that Sherlock ever got stuck on the Sudoku "_Boring, trivial, not really a puzzle at all!_"). He nodded incredibly slowly, still mulling it over.

"I could... tolerate 'Dad'." He decided eventually.  
"Settled then." John said decisively. "Daddy and Dad." He smiled warmly at the pair of them, the names seemed like a contract - a vow to look after her. "I like it..."  
"Ah!" Jay agreed chirpily.

A/n: Been really down lately, not really been up to writing so it's a good thing I was a few chapters ahead on this. Reviews would be super nice.


	6. The Baby Blues

Friday felt like an eternity since John had started back at work, even though it had only been a week. He trudged up the stairs to 221b, no longer panicked that he'd find the flat blown to pieces or something. In fact when he walked in, Sherlock was crouched on the play mat with Jay.  
"Evening." John greeted, peering at the activity. Sherlock had foregone all of her toys and the play mat was scattered with a strange assortment of items: a screwed up ball of tinfoil, a small clear box with two five pence coins in it, a sealed plastic test tube, half full of a blue viscous liquid and a small bundle of cinnamon sticks wrapped in a piece of purple cloth.  
"Evening. How was work?" Sherlock asked absently, shaking the coin box at Jay. John's jaw dropped.

"What? Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?" He asked in playful incredulity. Sherlock shot him a half scowl and continued entertaining the one month old. "You never ask how work went..."  
"Fine, don't tell me." Sherlock dismissed.  
"No it was... alright I guess." John shrugged sticking the kettle on. "Diagnosed a woman with post-natal depression..." He added, conversationally.  
"Ms One-Twenty-Seven?" Sherlock asked knowingly, referring to the woman across the street by her house number.  
"How do you do that?" John wondered, amazed. Yes it had been the lady across the road, but honestly, was nothing sacred? "And no I can't confirm that it was Ms One-Twenty-Seven as you call her, as I'd be breaching Patient confidentiality... but then I guess that doesn't really apply when you live with the world's only consulting detective." He sighed, stirring them both a cup of tea.

"What did you opt for then? Therapy or drugs?" Sherlock asked, switching to the bundle of cinnamon sticks, waving it under Jay's button nose, she wrinkled it in either displeasure or delight - hard to tell.  
"Pardon?" John queried, bringing the mugs through.  
"Assuming you referred her for therapy as she's breast feeding, obvious - every time I've seen her she's had a milk soaked blouse." Jay gave a happy squeal and John couldn't help but smile, grateful for the fact that he and Sherlock had not had to endure the hormonal rollercoaster that was pregnancy and its after effects. They'd been rather lucky, really, you know, if you ignored the fact they'd been spectacularly unlucky.  
"I recommended a therapist and for her to make regular check-ins with us. Poor thing... she seemed really down. What's in the test tube?" John worried.  
"Oh, washing up liquid." Sherlock dismissed.  
"Surprised you even know where it lives." John teased. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I'm testing her senses. The tinfoil reflects light and makes noise, her hearing's perfect look." Sherlock crinkled the tinfoil ball on the left side of Jay's head and she tilted her head very slightly towards it, looking curious and mildly annoyed at not being able to follow it properly. Quick as a flash Sherlock swapped the ball to his other hand and scrunched it.  
"Eh!" Jay shifted towards it, having not quite mastered a full turn of her head, but she reached for it. Sherlock fetched her cuddly rabbit soother, something Amy had bought her and gave her that to hold as he joined John on the sofa, taking his tea gratefully.  
"Any progress on the toy shop murder?" John asked.  
"Frustratingly little." Sherlock sighed, still watching Jay, sucking on the edge of the cloth rabbit.

"This... baby group on Sunday..." Sherlock began cautiously. "What if she gets bullied?" John nearly choked on his tea.  
"Sherlock, she's a month old! Nobody's going to bully a one month old..." He said, bewildered that Sherlock, so intelligent and sensible, could think such a thing.  
"What about when she's older? School? What if she's bullied then?" Sherlock ploughed on determinedly. "What do we do?"  
"We deal with it as it happens Sherlock..."  
"What if she's bullied for being ours?" Sherlock asked, a fierceness in his tone.  
"What for... for having two dads? Kids these days don't really care Sherlock, and even if they do... What's brought all this on?" John's concern was obvious on his face and Sherlock sighed heavily. He hadn't really wanted to hide this from John but showing him was not going to be easy. Reluctantly Sherlock picked up John's laptop and brought up the blog, thrusting the evidence at John.

"Your sister's been... talking." Sherlock muttered. John blinked and scrolled through, Harry had made a comment asking John to put up some photos of Jay... it had 189 responses. John gulped, sure enough there was the beginning comments of  
'_Jay_?'  
'_Jay Who?_'  
'_Who is Jay? Can we see pictures?_' and then Harry, again, saying how Jay was their daughter and her niece. John groaned, scanning the pages and pages of comments. Most of them were congratulatory, some disbelieving - claiming their blog had been hacked, and a few of them, only a few - hate speech or ignorance.  
'_Who let these homos adopt a baby!_'  
'_I always knew they were queer! Unfollowing the blog!_'  
'_Oh my goodness that poor child, I'm not homophobic but I believe every baby deserves a mother it's not right what you two are doing, please, please Sherlock and John, send her back - let her find a mummy __**and**__ a daddy_' John closed the page.

"It was going to get out eventually anyway." John said with a frown, making a mental note to call Harry and admonish her later. "We couldn't keep her a secret forever, we're... always in the papers and stuff so... we don't publicize her or force her into the limelight but if we're asked - stick to our story and do our best." He reassured. Sherlock looked severely uncomfortable.

"Look, Sherlock it's... it's good that you're worried but it's not necessary. Really. It's our job to shield her, right? So we do that, we keep her away from the hate and the bad things until she'd old enough to take it on by herself. We raise her right."  
"We've put a target on her tiny back." Sherlock said coldly. "Any and all my many enemies... I should never have brought her home." He shook his head, his tone still icy. John actually jolted in shock. Jesus, Ms One-Twenty-Seven wasn't the only one with post-baby-blues. John stared at Sherlock, hard, trying to force the detective to look at him with just a glance. When it didn't work, he reached forward and placed his fingers under Sherlock's chin, forcing Sherlock to look up and directly at him.

Blue eyes met startlingly pale silvery ones in a staring contest.  
"Oi. None of this regret shit, alright? We knew what we were signing up for. Let's get one thing straight - your enemies know you far too well to risk hurting someone you love. Those Americans that hurt Mrs Hudson... remember? Moriarty, some random serial killer, hell if Irene Adler rose from the dead and walked in this door right now - they would know not to fuck with any child of Sherlock Holmes if they wanted to live to tell the tale." John told him firmly. "And the rest of it... homophobia or jealous kids or... whatever. It doesn't matter, Sherlock." John promised. Sherlock nodded in agreement.  
"I forget myself, sometimes." He said softly. "I am... pleased you are around to remind me." John realised that he was still holding Sherlock's face and quickly let it go, flushing a furious red himself.  
"Yeah well, what kind of a fake homosexual boyfriend would I be if I didn't put you in your place every so often, eh?" He asked jokingly. Sherlock smirked and said nothing.

-

The nursery on Sage Street was rather prettier on the inside, a typical unassuming red brick building to the passer-by with soft pastel coloured interior walls, a plush carpet and tiny little activity centres in the corner of every room. John found himself smiling at the thought of Jay, in a year or two, standing on one of the little steps to reach the water play area or the sand pit, like the little blond boy in the dungarees was doing.

John paid in and settled himself down with a cup of tea, it was weaker that the stuff at home but it would do. Jay had absolutely zero interest in anything going on around them, sucking her fist contentedly.  
"Oh, don't do that." John said, rifling in the baby bag for one of the blue dummies he'd bought the other day. What Sherlock didn't know wouldn't hurt him. John uncapped the pacifier and popped it in her mouth.  
"You decided to start her on one then?" Asked a voice and John turned to see Alice, smiling at him. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail today, with a few curls left cascading to frame her face.  
"Hello again." John said as she slipped down to sit at the table with them.  
"And who's this?" She asked, peering into the pram.  
"Ah, this is my daughter, Blue Jay." John introduced her, feeling an odd swell of pride at calling her that in public. His daughter. He liked it.  
"Unusual name." Alice commented, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.  
"Oh... no, yeah, her name's Jay. Blue Jay's sort of become a nickname..." John hadn't even realised he did it that time.

It was only when they were half way through an animated conversation that John realised he'd actively avoided mentioning Sherlock at all. It shouldn't have filled him with the twisted guilt that rose in his stomach, but Alice was obviously interested, she kept leaning forward and touching his arm, giggling at his stupid comments and fiddling with her hair. She was gorgeous too, a little dressed down and conservative, but the innocent factor worked for her.  
"She's beautiful." Alice said when the subject changed back to Jay.  
"Stunning, though she's going a bit bald at the back." John admitted.  
"Oh they do at that age, on their backs all the time, get her a hat or a bonnet, nobody will know." She smiled broadly. "She's quite dark isn't she?"  
"Hm? Her hair? Yeah." John leaned down and ran his fingers through Jay's soft dark hair, still hovering uncertainly between dark brown and black, she raised her head slightly at the sensation.  
"Was her mother dark then?" Alice prompted.  
"Oh... no, Amy was blonde."

"That's unusual." Alice glanced over her shoulder to where her son was pulling another child's hair. "Joey, sweetheart we don't pull!" She scolded, the tiny boy looked shocked at his mother's omnipresence and quickly ran to the soft play area. "Nightmare. Anyway, two blondes?"  
"Well, Jay's not exactly _mine_." John admitted. Alice's eyebrows sky-rocketed. "I adopted her..." I. I not we. John really ought to tell her the truth but she was looking at him like he was such a hero that he heart caught in his throat. "It's a long story..." Well - that much was true, whichever way you sliced it.

John did his best to ignore the knot of guilt in his chest - technically he wasn't doing anything wrong flirting with Alice, he was still single if not officially, he was a red blooded male and she was a stunning woman... still, it didn't sit right with him.

The next two weeks and their sessions he did try to bring Sherlock up, but it never seemed the right time, and she was so sympathetic - single mother, she knew how hard it was, or so she said.

The Friday before Jay turned six weeks old, John mentioned something to Sherlock in passing.  
"We have to get Jay registered, I was thinking of popping down and doing it tomorrow, the registry office isn't too far and she'll enjoy the walk."  
"I'll come too." Sherlock said, slamming a book closed in frustration. The title claimed it was the Official British Census records for the past 100 years, John had no idea what that had to do with the case, but then again, following Sherlock's train of thought was never easy considering it seemed to run on about fifteen different tracks.  
"You sure? It'll be boring it's just filling out paperwork and..."  
"I'm sure. I'm going mad here all day."  
"You were already mad, Sherlock." John teased affectionately - coming from anybody else, Sherlock would glare, but he knew John meant no harm by it so let it slide. He sat down heavily in the arm chair and peered into Jay's travel cot as though she, fast asleep, were a more interesting case.

"What are we going to call her, Sherlock?" John asked eventually.  
"Jay." Sherlock said as if it were obvious.  
"Well yes, Jay... I meant - her last name..." He trailed off, because it felt like an odd question to be asking. Sherlock shrugged offhandedly.  
"Watson-Holmes sounds better than Holmes-Watson but I'm not particularly bothered either way." He dismissed, waving his hand. "A rose by any other name, isn't that the expression?" Sherlock was not one to wax lyrical, but he thought the quote fitting.  
"Oh... yeah Watson-Holmes is fine I just meant well... are we including MacDonald?" John asked, and the question weighed heavily upon them both. Sherlock actually looked as though he was having some sort of an internal battle.

"As soon as she gets old enough to understand where babies come from - she will realise she is adopted." He said after a long moment of reflection. "I have no qualms with telling her the truth, however... I would like to delay that moment of realisation as long as possible." He steepled his fingers below his chin, staring at her as he spoke. "If her name is different, she will know, as soon as she can read and write, they teach children their names at three or four these days... I respect her true lineage, and mean no ill towards Amy or Mack... but I don't believe it fair to burden a child with that knowledge until she is ready." He took a deep breath before looking at John for moral guidance. "Am I being selfish?"  
"No. You have a point it's just..." John trailed off awkwardly. "I don't want to feel like I'm taking that right away from her, the right to ask questions..."  
"Then when she is... eleven or twelve and is entitled to the truth - the whole truth, because if anybody deserves it, it's her, we give her the option of including MacDonald in her name - if she wants to legally change it we'll sign the papers and allow it. Until then, I would prefer she not have to carry her traumatic circumstances around with her."

John supposed Sherlock was right, really. In her crib, Jay slept on, blissfully unaware she was being discussed.

The paperwork _was_ boring, and Sherlock barely held his tongue when the woman made a cutting remark about the birth certificate having to contain the _biological _parents' names. It was worth it though, because after an hour of having to show adoption forms and signing hospital records, they were presented with a birth certificate.

_**Jay Watson-Holmes **_

John didn't know who felt more pride, himself or Sherlock - if he had to place a bet he'd say Sherlock, because he'd been sulking over being stuck on the toy-shop murder case but smiled and joked casually nearly the entire walk home. John pushed the pram, while Jay enjoyed the world around her. The past week or so she'd been much more responsive to anything and everything, if Sherlock's phone rang she looked around to find the source of the noise, if you turned the lights out before she was fully asleep she became startled and woke up crying, but best of all she was starting to recognise Sherlock and John over other people. It ought not to be such a thrill but they were both secretly touched when she wailed and reached for them if anybody else held her.

Sherlock dipped down and picked a daisy from the street corner near Baker Street.  
"Don't give her that, she'll eat it." John warned but Sherlock was staring at the small white flower with narrowed eyes, as though it had personally wronged him. They turned the corner and John's heart stuttered to a stop - the street, their street, Baker Street - was swarming with police. "Oh god, Mrs Hudson." John said, voicing his concern aloud. Sherlock tossed the daisy to the ground and raced ahead, artfully dodging the police tape and paramedics.  
"Sherlock!" Lestrade called as he pushed through the crowd.  
"What's happened?" Sherlock demanded as John caught up with Jay in the stroller.  
"Suspected murder suicide, don't go in." Lestrade ordered. John felt a weight like a stone in his stomach as they reached the epicentre of the hubbub. Number One Twenty Seven Baker Street.

Sherlock continued onwards, but Lestrade grabbed his arm and tugged him back.  
"Sherlock, I mean it - _don't _go in there." He warned. "No parent should have to see that."  
"Sherlock..." John cautioned, but there was no stopping the detective, his expression steeled as he forced his way past the two officers stationed at the front door and raced up the stairs. The building's architecture was eerily similar to 221b, the decoration was different but it felt wrong because he knew what lay upstairs. Just because he knew what to expect did not mean he was prepared for it. The bathroom door, identical to Sherlock's own, was wide open, and even without crossing the threshold of the room Sherlock could see the blood red water disguising the naked body of Ms One-Twenty-Seven, he'd never bothered to learn her name. The bathroom was littered with little yellow evidence markers showing the forensics team had been in.

Sherlock walked past the bathroom and into the bedroom, against the wall, in the same position as Jay's, was a crib and his feet carried him to it instinctively. He knew he wasn't to touch, there was a pillow laying beside the cot in an evidence bag so it was obvious what had happened but it didn't soften the blow of the view. In the crib, blue eyes wide open even in death was the body of a baby girl, a few weeks older than Jay. Her hollow eyes were blood-shot and her lips were blue, she'd been suffocated. Sherlock shook with something he couldn't identify. He'd seen children's bodies before but there was something different now. He felt simultaneously heartbroken,yet angry enough to smash something.  
"Don't disturb the evidence." Said a voice from the doorway. Sherlock spun on his heel and glared at Donovan who was leaning against the door frame with her arms across her chest. "Tragic." She said softly, eyes skimming the crib. Sherlock could not find a retort, simply walked past her and back down the stairs that were not the stairs of 221b no matter how similar they were, and out into the sunlight.

John stood, looking concerned, still standing dutifully by Jay's pram. Sherlock glanced at them, then away, before crossing the street and going into the convenience store opposite.  
"Is he... okay?" Lestrade asked worriedly. "I did tell him not to go in."  
"Yes well, he never listens." John said with a frown, eyes on the shop. Moments later Sherlock emerged, sparking a cigarette. Ah... mark of stress. John couldn't admonish him for it, not really, and as long as Jay was well away from it...  
"I'll go." Lestrade said, rubbing John's shoulder and crossing the street to speak to his friend. John, slightly apart from the throng of officials sat on a set of steps, looking into Jay's pram.

"The thing about your dad, Blue Jay." John told her quietly. "Is that the thing I like most about him, is the thing he thinks is his biggest flaw. The fact is: He's human."  
"I've seen this scene before, you know." Came a voice and John looked up to see Sally stood beside them, looking at the two men, sharing a cigarette in silence. "Holmes and Lestrade - after a particularly vicious or brutal murder they smoke... even when they've quit... but I'll tell you something... it's never Sherlock who looks like that." She spoke very softly, very kindly. "Who looks broken... shaken... looks like he's lost his faith in humanity, that's usually Lestrade." She continued. She then crouched down and peeked at Jay for the first time. "You've changed him you know... you two." She wriggled her fingers in front of Jay's eyes and she watched avidly, captivated by the motion.  
"Yeah... mostly her." John agreed.  
"No... even before her. You know... Lestrade always said he'd change one day... I always thought he'd snap."  
"I know you did." John said shortly, because he hated it when people doubted Sherlock, he didn't deserve it.  
"I'm glad to say I was wrong." Sally smiled at Jay before turning to John.

"You know what you need to do?" She asked him. John sighed, because whether he wanted her to or not Sally was about to give him advice. "He's hurting. You need to get him out of that massive head of his. Take him home, make him a cup of tea, then shag his bloody brains out." John barked out a laugh that seemed massively inappropriate among the business of the crime scene. "Anything to stop him thinking." Sally said warmly. She clapped her hand on John's shoulder as he stood. "And congratulations on the whole... baby thing." She added.  
"Yeah... thanks. Hey uh... watch her a second would you?" He glanced over at Sherlock and Lestrade, they were about finished with the cigarette now.  
"What! No, no, no! I'm rubbish with kids, they hate me... really not a good idea." Sally panicked.  
"Two seconds, yeah?" John darted across the street, as far as he could tell, Sherlock and Greg had not said more than two words to one another and as John approached, Sherlock avoided his eye.

He wasn't entirely sure why he did it, it could have been Sally's advice or it could have been instinct, but he wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him into an awkward embrace. Awkward because for a long moment Sherlock did not respond at all, just stood stiff in John's arms, hesitantly he began to relax and returned the action, arms settling around the smaller man and laying his chin against John's hair, inhaling lightly. They seemed to stay like that for an eternity, certainly long enough for Lestrade's silly, affectionate smile to burn into John's memory. Sally crossed the street with Jay.  
"She started crying..." She said embarrassedly, "I didn't do anything, I swear!" She added as John and Sherlock finally let go of each other.  
"Yes, she's reached the attachment phase. If you're not me or John she gets uppity." Sherlock said, bending down and removing Jay from her pram, holding her close to him. "It's her bed time anyway." He said and swept off up the steps of 221b without so much as a backward glance. John sighed and shook his head.

"I'll see you lot later." He said, acknowledging Lestrade and Sally's presence at the very least. By the time he got the pram unfolded and upstairs, Sherlock was in his room. John had long since given up knocking, there was just no point any more, Sherlock's bedroom was Jay's bedroom and he had to go in to see to her. He slipped wordlessly in beside Sherlock who was laying her down. She reached sleepily up for him and he held one of her tiny hands for a long moment until she settled.

John stood beside Sherlock, against the side of Jay's crib as the two held hands. She was trying valiantly to keep her eyes open but they were closing of their own accord as she began to drift. The hand that was not holding Jay's was white knuckled against the side of the cot, John glanced from the little girl, to Sherlock, and back to Jay. Sally's words rang in John's ears... '_he's hurting_' it would be so easy for him to place his hand over Sherlock's... just a mark of support really, a friendly gesture. Except, the thought alone made his heart race in a way he really didn't want to analyse. Sherlock seemed frozen where he was, letting Jay slip quietly into sleep, still clutching his hand.

Then Sherlock did it.

While John was debating why it was so difficult for him to just offer Sherlock some comfort, Sherlock made the move John was stressing over. He released his grip on the crib and moved his hand over the top of John's, resting it lightly on his.

John felt his heart was in his throat and he didn't know why. Sherlock sighed gently, eyes still glued to their infant daughter.  
"Tea?" John offered, in an attempt to break the tension. Sherlock hummed vaguely, Jay had dropped off completely - and the spell was broken, he moved away from John, away from the crib and into the kitchen. John's hand still felt oddly warm, Sherlock's palm imprinted on him like an invisible shadow - why was that, a really simple gesture, so much different from the hug John had offered him only minutes before? He couldn't explain it, but followed Sherlock out of the room, flicking Jay's bedroom light off as he went.

A/n: JOHNLOCK IS HAPPENING! STUFF IS GOING ON! ASDFGHJKL. I should not be so excited by my own stories but I just love John and Sherlock with a baby girl. I've always said that if anybody gets the urge to art from my stories - feel free! You don't have to be super talented or anything just know if you want to draw anything Some Assembly Required related - tag me, I'll be super chuffed!

Also - TODAY (September 18th) IS MY BIRTHDAY! So I'm giving you all a present in updating this and In Session, you should give me a present in return by leaving a review :D


	7. A Distinct Lack Of Fireworks

John spent the next few weeks working, taking Jay to the baby group (and subsequently chatting with Alice) and trying to deal with Sherlock who was in a massive strop - the toyshop murder had hit a brick wall and no matter which way Sherlock turned it - no suspects meant no case. So it was put on the back burner, meaning the detective lay about the flat moaning about the crippling ennui that had set in and how nothing was interesting any more. John scowled at him, he'd had a rough enough day at work and really did not have the energy to fight with Sherlock on this. Still Sherlock droned on.  
"If you're so bored, go play with your daughter." John finally snapped at him. Sherlock raised his head vaguely in the direction of Jay's bouncer.  
"She's entertained." He dismissed.  
"Yeah well it's her nap-time in a minute. Put the stereo on." John urged, settling down on the sofa.

It was Monday, and at yesterday's baby group his sort-of flirting with Alice had resulted in her giving him his phone number. It was written on a tiny slip of paper in his jeans pocket, but it felt like a lead weight... a lead weight that was on fire because every time he thought it through it felt wrong, wrong enough that it burned so intensely John thought it must glow, that Sherlock would be able to see it like a brand on his backside.

He didn't know why he felt so guilty - he was not actually Sherlock's boyfriend, he was single, he had needs and he hadn't dated anybody in the nearly 3 months since they'd brought Jay home... hadn't dated anybody for a long while before that actually. Still, he carried it round like a tawdry secret, glancing at it occasionally on bathroom breaks or moments of silence and he was convinced Sherlock could see it on his face.

"The entertainment system is broken." Sherlock said unhelpfully. John rubbed the bridge of his nose.  
"Why is it broken?" He dared to ask.  
"Didn't touch it." Sherlock swore, shrugging. John groaned and got up, fiddling with the ancient system in an attempt to get a reaction... nothing. The plugs were all in tact, the wires undamaged but the thing was silent no matter how many knobs John twiddled. The radio wouldn't go on and the CD player lit up but didn't play (John had actually gone out and bought a Katy Perry CD, which annoyed Sherlock to no end, but worked wonders on Jay) "Told you." Sherlock drawled, bored.

Jay was almost able to hold her head up completely on her own now, and turned properly rather than just tilting her head when there was noise or someone was speaking to her. She babbled incessantly and chattered on in her own little world. Sherlock had even told John that she was starting to store words in her memory too, it would be a long time before she could use them properly but she was already absorbing information at lightning speed, so John refrained from swearing at Sherlock - even though he really wanted to. The pillock had been unbearable as of late. Almost on cue, Jay began whimpering and whining, John sighed, he could really do with some proper rest.

Seeing as Sherlock was making absolutely no motion to get up, John crossed the room and freed Jay from her bouncer. She clung to him making pitiful sort of mewing noises but not really crying.  
"Alright Blue Jay, I know, I know..." He soothed, wandering around the living room, side stepping Sherlock's case files and books (he'd made a tower out of them at one point - he was that bored). He rubbed her back gently to settle her, aware of Sherlock's eyes on them as he walked. At eleven weeks old, Jay had outgrown nearly all of her original clothes, John had reluctantly agreed to give most of them to charity - he agreed with keeping sentimental things for her, for when she was older, but he could not justify keeping everything Amy had bought her there just wasn't room. Since then, John had most bought her blue clothing, he thought it was cute, even if Sherlock bemoaned him for it.

"Blue for Blue Jay, anyway it suits her." John had said. "You don't like it, you take her shopping."  
"People keep mistaking her for a boy." The detective had grumbled, not so much indignant at people mistaking her for a baby boy, just indignant in general, the way he usually was after a case foiled him.  
"Then stick a ribbon on her head." John had just shrugged it off - so Sherlock had gone out and purchased an array of headbands and ribbons and bows, all of which had worked their way into Jay's everyday wardrobe. She'd already thrown up on one of her baby grows today, so John had changed her into a little white one with blue floral embroidery and left her wearing a denim flower headband. She looked adorable... or she would if her face weren't screwed up and over tired. John bobbed her in vain, but she wasn't having any of it.

"You could help you know." John snapped at Sherlock who sighed long sufferingly (prat) and got to his feet as though it were a great task, holding his arms out for her. John transferred her carefully and she began to cry in earnest. Jay spent the next half hour reducing two grown men to cooing, shushing and lulling but to no avail, the harder they tried the louder she got. Mrs Hudson knocked on the door at one point to ask if everything was okay, Sherlock had told her to get lost.  
"Sherlock!" John scolded. "We're fine, Mrs Hudson... sorry about the noise. I'll come down and see you in a bit when she's dropped off, yeah?" He called through the door as he heard the old lady click her teeth and head back down the stairs. John glared at Sherlock who sighed again. He didn't mean to lose his temper, but Jay's screaming was starting to wear on them both. John knew Sherlock would apologise later, he liked Mrs Hudson, and she would not be too offended - she was more than used to his temper tantrums.

"Nothing for it then." John said reluctantly. He didn't move to take Jay from Sherlock's arms, instead he leaned over, stroking her hair while Sherlock held her. He took a deep breath before piping up. "_Do you ever feel like a plastic bag? Drifting through the wind, wanting to start again?_" Sherlock's jaw dropped as John began to sing, completely and utterly floored by hearing the notes from his partner's mouth. Jay took a few moments to register what was going on and quietened in the middle of the first verse, gurgling into Sherlock's neck appreciatively. John's voice lilted upwards, singing with a smile as he worked his way through the song.

By the time he got to the chorus, a far too deep  
"_Baby you're a firework..._" Sherlock was in stitches, trying to stop himself from laughing as he stroked circles on Jay's shoulders while she drifted, she was sparko'd long before John finished the song.  
"I didn't know you could sing." Sherlock said incredulously as John trailed off.  
"That wasn't singing that was talking to a tune." John laughed and Sherlock laid Jay gently in her carry cot.  
"No I mean... I didn't _know_ you could sing. How could I not know? I know everything about you..." He said indignantly.  
"Sherlock not even you can possibly know everything about another person. It's infeasible." Sherlock began to open his mouth to argue. "I'm thirty seven." He told Sherlock. "That's sixty minutes in every hour, twenty four hours in a day, three hundred and sixty five days in a year that I've lived and been alive and things have happened to me. Even if you'd started chronicling every little thing I'd done from the moment you were born... you're still younger than me. It's impossible."

Sherlock looked slightly annoyed and irked, he hadn't meant that so literally.  
"I meant anything of importance..."  
"And how do you categorize what's important?" John countered, tucking Jay's blanket in around her. "Because what is and isn't important changes depending on your perspective. When I first met you, whether or not I couldsing wouldn't have been important, you'd have deleted it right off! You don't know _everything _about me just like I don't know everything about you..." Sherlock thought there was an implication behind those words he did not want to face. "Hell I don't even know everything about me! I learn something new about myself every day." He said, his words still carrying a heavy weight as he thought back to the number in his pocket - he'd never have thought himself a liar.  
"I..." Sherlock began, but he couldn't find a counter argument for it.  
"Right well, now that the philosophy lesson's over, assuming you can't be bothered to get your royal arse dressed, I better go apologise to Mrs H on your behalf... I'm gonna go change first though. Try do something useful while I'm gone, yeah?" John disappeared upstairs while Sherlock was left contemplating what else he might not know about John Watson.

Sherlock waited until John had left before glancing around the flat, there was a pile of baby-grows and tiny tights in front of the washing machine, he supposed he could do 'something useful' for a bit.

Mrs Hudson gave John a kiss on the cheek before letting him into her flat, John lowered himself into one of her flowery armchairs as she tottered off to put the kettle on and when she returned she was carrying a tray laden with tea and biscuits, bringing a smile to John's face.  
"You finally got her to stop crying then?" She asked, busying herself with handing him a teacup (also flowery).  
"Yeah, we need to fix the stereo at some point though." His phone dinged with a text, from Sherlock.  
"_Presuming blues and blacks go in the same wash? - SH_." John sighed dramatically, he didn't know why Sherlock insisted on signing all his texts 'SH', John had his number logged in his phone, he knew full well when it was Sherlock texting him. He shot Mrs Hudson an apologetic glance before texting back  
"_Don't tell me you're actually doing laundry. Dark blues - yes, light blues- no._"

"How's Jay, dear?" Mrs Hudson asked, peering at John over her tea cup.  
"She's fine, bigger every day." He smiled, the warmth of the tea nothing in comparison to the warmth in the swell of pride he got from talking about her.  
"And Sherlock?"  
"He's the same size as ever." John said playfully, but he knew what she meant and followed it up with a more serious note of. "He's not great at the minute..."  
"Of course he's not... staying in all day, every day with the baby, it's not healthy for him you know." She chided, handing John a jammy dodger. John felt the familiar pang of guilt settle in, because he knew she had a very good point - without the work, Sherlock withdrew into himself and it was under John's instruction that Sherlock had reduced his workload.

"Now don't get me wrong, I think it's lovely that he's bonded so well with her, I don't think I've ever seen him this besotted with anything other than you." She continued, ignoring John's slight blush. "But he's becoming isolated, dependent on you and her. He needs human contact, or at the very least he needs a break from her... Not a big one, just a wee one." She explained, holding her thumb and forefinger apart to show him how small a wee break was, John was about to argue that separating Sherlock and Jay would be nigh on impossible but Mrs Hudson breezed on. "Now when was the last time you boys went out on a date, hm?"  
"Oh uh..." John paused, because people thus far hadn't really asked him questions about them as a couple, they asked after Jay, they asked how they were adjusting - but nobody asked about their relationship.  
"See, you can't even remember, can you?" Her eyes were kind and John felt the lie twist in his stomach once more. He hated deceiving her, she was like family.  
"No." He said honestly. "I genuinely cannot remember when we last went on a date." '_Because it never happened._' his subconscious added unhelpfully.

"Well it's settled then, my bingo night's been cancelled this Friday anyway, I'll take Jay for a few hours and you two go out and have a night out, drinking or dancing or whatever young people do these days."  
"Ah, I'm not sure..." John began uncertainly.  
"No buts about it John, I may be a blathering old fool but I do know a thing or two about babies and I know that however loved they are, they can put a real strain on a relationship. I'll be just fine with her for a couple of hours." She insisted. John sighed.  
"Yeah... alright I'll suggest it to him but I can't guarantee anything." Mrs Hudson smiled knowingly.

"You tell that young man he's to take you on a date or you'll withhold sex until he does."  
"Mrs Hudson!" John said incredulously, both shocked and amused at the same time.  
"You forget, dear, I _was _married for a long time." She grinned. "Maybe try a holiday too? The three of you? The seaside for a week or so - could do you the world of good! You've still got a bit of good weather left in the year, and the sea air does wonders for depression." She prompted. "And romance." She added cheekily. John smiled thinly, because it seemed unlikely he'd be able to convince Sherlock to go on a date, never mind a holiday.  
"We'll see,"

"Off you pop then, and bring Jay down to see me some time in the week, I'll have to measure her again if she's growing so quickly, I can barely knit fast enough!" John smiled a little more genuinely and hugged her in thanks before darting back upstairs.

The only evidence that Sherlock had moved at all was the whirr of the washing machine, other than that he was in the exact same position he'd been earlier, laying prostrate on the sofa with a metaphorical black cloud crackling over his head.  
"We're going out Friday night." John told him - it was not a question, Sherlock did not move or make any attempt to acknowledge John's existence. John frowned, looking closer to make sure the detective was not actually asleep, but no, he was definitely awake, looking more withdrawn and depressed than ever. "Angelo's sound good?"  
"A screaming child in a restaurant is a social faux pas if I'm not mistaken." Sherlock murmured.  
"We're not bringing Jay." Sherlock's eyebrows raised, looking mildly alarmed was a slight improvement from looking like he hated the world, but only slight. "Mrs Hudson's offered to take her for a bit, while you and I go out."  
"Pass." Sherlock replied, bored again.

"Nope. I'm not accepting no for an answer Sherlock. I'm not having you moping about the flat any more, you've not seen natural light in three weeks!" He scolded. Sherlock shrugged, he didn't give a damn about natural light. "Besides, it'll give us a chance to talk and stuff." Sherlock scowled.  
"We talk plenty." He grumbled. "You talk too much." He added sulkily.  
"Come off it, when was the last time you and I had a conversation that wasn't about whose turn it was to feed the baby, or when she needed a nappy change? Nope, you and I are off out on Friday even if I have to drag you." John insisted. Sherlock sighed melodramatically, heaved himself off the sofa and disappeared into his bedroom without another word. John rolled his eyes - one way or another he was getting Sherlock out of the flat on Friday night.

-

For the rest of the week, Sherlock was worse than ever. He barely spoke a word to John and only ventured in and out of his bedroom to deal with Jay. On Friday, when John got home from work, Sherlock was dressed up, prim and proper in dark smart trousers and a tight fitting shirt in an attractive deep wine red colour.  
"I won't be dragging you then?" John asked, smiling at Sherlock, who avoided his eye and shrugged.  
"Let's just get this over with, shall we?" He asked, as though he was dreading the night. John rolled his eyes.  
"Let me get dressed, okay and then we'll drop Jay off with Mrs H." When he vanished upstairs Sherlock settled down with Jay on his lap.  
"Whatever you do small person, don't throw up." Sherlock instructed. "You have to behave for Mrs Hudson, she's one of the good ones I assure you." Jay blinked cluelessly at him and sucked on her rabbit soother instead, John had bought her a second identical one as she gummed at the first one so mercilessly the cloth was usually pretty grim after a day or two, but she got agitated without it.

Though the book had said object attachment would begin at 2-3 months, Sherlock was surprised she'd picked something so ordinary - there was nothing particularly special about the cloth rabbit attached to a handkerchief sized piece of blanket material, but she held fast to it and screamed if you tried to pull it away from her while she was conscious. Sherlock stroked her hair softly, thick at the front and thinning to almost baldness on the back where she lay her head. He smiled sadly at her and kissed her forehead, she gurgled cheerily in response. John looked pretty impressive as he descended the stairs in a navy blue shirt and black trousers. Sherlock rarely got to see him dressed up these days, as he only ever seemed to wear his nicest clothes on date nights. He nodded curtly at the shorter man, standing up, he carried Jay against his chest with one arm, and her moses basket filled with formula and a few toys tangled loosely from his free hand. Jay did not let go of her rabbit.

"You two enjoy yourselves, okay?" Mrs Hudson insisted as Sherlock reluctantly handed Jay over to her. Sherlock had not been apart from her for more than few hours hour at a time since she had been born, and the stress of leaving her was evident on his face.  
"Test the temperature of the bottle on your wrist before you give her it." He pressed. "And if she can't sleep, sing to her or turn the radio on. She doesn't like the dark so leave the light on if she's not quite asleep, and she _won't_ let you take rabbit so don't even try." He continued firmly.  
"I'm sure I'll manage." She promised him. Sherlock still did not look convinced. John put his hand on Sherlock's arm.  
"They'll be fine, and she has our contact numbers in case they're not... but they will be. Come on." He said gently. Sherlock glanced down at John's hand on his bicep and frowned before nodding, he gave Mrs Hudson a kiss on the cheek and placed one last peck on Jay's hair before the two men swept off for their not-date.

Sherlock seemed on edge the entire journey, even though Angelo's was not a massive trek from Baker Street. John thanked Angelo on behalf of both of them as he lead them to their window seat and added a candle, John did not question it. It was nice actually, quite relaxing.  
"Will you stop looking like a wet weekend." He prompted, handing Sherlock a menu. "Jay will be absolutely fine without us for a short while, okay." Sherlock ignored him, choosing to scan the menu instead, he decided almost instantly - having memorized Angelo's menu years ago. John took a little more time, he hadn't told Sherlock when the detective ordered (correctly) for them both.  
"Salmon farfalla and chicken cacciatora - and do make sure the alcohol is properly burned off this time, I was practically paralytic last time." He rolled his eyes dramatically. "And an apple juice and a..." He surveyed John for a moment. "Glass of red wine, the house one will do." John grinned appreciatively.

"Go on then." He said, amused. "How'd you work that out?" Sherlock looked at him and frowned, he normally delighted in telling John how he'd come to his conclusions, but he looked away just as quickly, ignoring the question, John's brow furrowed in concern. "Sherlock you've barely spoken to me all week... what's wrong?"  
"Nothing's _wrong._" Sherlock sniffed, glancing around distractedly.  
"Sherlock... this is me you're talking to." He reminded him. "What the hell makes you think you can lie to me?" His words were meant to be kind, provoking a gentle reaction but Sherlock's expression soured.  
"The same thing that makes you think you can lie to me." He said bitterly. John raised an eyebrow. "Oh for... I'm not doing the whole dramatic reveal - you and I both know why we're here so can we please just get it over with?" Sherlock demanded, obviously irritated. When John drew a blank Sherlock sighed.

"You've obviously brought me here to stage a break up, so just get on with it." Sherlock snapped. John was taken aback, though he had a nasty idea what had put this nonsense in Sherlock's head. "I said the day after Jay was born that if you didn't want to raise her with me you were perfectly entitled to stage a break up when she was settled..."  
"Okay, okay just slow down." John said, holding his hands up in submission. "I'm not abandoning Jay and I'm not breaking up with you." He reassured. Sherlock rolled his eyes petulantly.  
"Alice is happy to be part of this little menage-a-trois then?" He countered. John wished the waiter would arrive with his wine, he didn't think he'd ever needed a drink more.  
"Okay for one thing, _don't _phrase it like that this isn't some weird kinky threesome - you and I aren't actually dating!" John lowered his voice to hiss this at Sherlock, as he didn't want people overhearing that they weren't really together - they'd already had to avoid their fair share of the press lately, John didn't put it past a journalist to be seated across from them. "Secondly... you know about Alice?"

"Oh don't insult me, John." Sherlock drawled. "Of course I know. I knew the whole time, nobody wears perfume to a parent and baby group unless they're trying to impress someone, you come home every Sunday reeking of it. I just presumed you were being pursued by some overweight singleton in track suit bottoms with half a dozen children." He said, wrinkling his nose in displeasure.  
"You have a lovely opinion of single mothers." John said sarcastically.  
"On Monday when I did the laundry,I found her number in your jeans, crinkled, well worn - so you've only had it a day and it's well worn? Obviously been taken out and looked at, frequently. A debate. So you're attracted to her too then." Sherlock continued, darkly. The waiter arrived with their drinks but dashed off almost immediately, sensing the tension between them.

"A single mother, John, really?" He asked sounding distastefully.  
"There is _nothing _wrong with single mothers." John said, indignant on Alice's behalf.  
"You already have a child! Why would you want somebody else's?" Sherlock demanded quietly. John scowled.  
"Because I'm human Sherlock, alright. Because a smart, funny, attractive woman is actually interested in me and so help me god yeah, I'm tempted." John admitted. "But that doesn't mean I'm walking out on Jay and that doesn't mean..."  
"You're not thinking of Jay! Is your own libido really more important than your daughter..." Sherlock cut him off angrily.  
"Oh for God's sake, Sherlock! She is three months old she doesn't know the difference between Molly and Greg yet never mind..." Sherlock cut him off again, quickly, angrily.  
"Exactly! She is going to be confused enough as it is - are you going to be the one to explain why she has two daddies and a mummy. Or why she has a different mummy each month?" Sherlock spat, annoyed.

"You are being ridiculous!" John hissed, taking an overly large sip of his wine. "Look Sherlock if you don't want me to date..." He began.  
"I can't think of a way to say it without sounding like an envious girlfriend so forgive me for being blunt but no - I don't want you to date. Ever." Sherlock finished, looking away, the bitterness in his eyes. John was surprised, he'd expected Sherlock to be a little annoyed, he'd been fully prepared for Sherlock to be his usually catty, cold and sarcastic self to any girlfriend he brought home but this... this was a bolt from the blue. Sherlock really didn't want him to see anybody. John's brow creased as he stared into his wine glass.  
"Okay." He said.  
"I just think it's going to cause more..." Sherlock began in an attempt to justify his comment.  
"Okay." John said again, more firmly. "I won't date." Sherlock's eyes snapped back to John, he looked as though he'd been slapped.

"What? But... as difficult as this is for me to admit, I am aware I'm being petty and... unreasonable... inappropriate... and... possibly jealous." Sherlock said cautiously. John chose to ignore the last bit for now.  
"Yeah well... you're right." John said, gripping his wine glass a little too tightly. "Look I... I made a commitment didn't I? Bringing Jay home... I knew what I was letting myself in for and... well if that means cold showers until she's old enough to understand then... okay."  
"I... I was not expecting this outcome." Sherlock admitted, awkwardly. He'd been completely prepared for a fight.  
"Yeah well... full of surprises, me." He paused, feeling Sherlock had been open, so he probably should be too. "I felt bad about it any way."

An awkward silence settled over the two as their food arrived, both sensing that Sherlock had inadvertently revealed more than he had intended. Jealousy had multiple implications and this was hardly a straight forward scenario. John was suddenly faced with the possibility that Sherlock may be attracted to him, and John wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that - he ought to be flattered but disinterested, thinking about how to carefully acknowledge the situation without hurting his friend... but there was a stirring somewhere deep in his gut that suggested he wasn't as disinterested as he'd thought he would be. He remembered how different it had felt to hold Sherlock's hand - how that had felt like a turning point. The possibility that he may be attracted to Sherlock has occurred to him briefly before, but he'd always pushed it to the back of his mind to analyse later. This was... complicated. He sipped at his drink before remembering he had a plate of food in front of him. Sherlock had gone quiet, and it was obvious his mind was whirring away.

"Seaside." John said suddenly.  
"Pardon?"  
"We should go on holiday... you me and Jay, how do you feel about the seaside?" He wasn't quite sure why he'd brought it up other than to show Sherlock he wasn't offended or upset with him. Sherlock was looking at him like he'd grown an extra head."I mean... I can book a week off work, it'd be nice to get away for a bit you know just the three of us..." He hesitated for a long moment, taking a long drag of wine before completing his sentence. "As a family." Sherlock nodded curtly, but John thought he saw the vaguest flicker of a smile at the corner of his partner's mouth.

A/n: D'aww. I ought to warn you, I would not trust me with this much power. I may well break your heart later on in the story. It's not all gonna be fluff and rainbows and sparkles, kay. Drama ahead! Reviews are good :)

Updates may be slow over the next month or so as I'm moving house.


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